


And Elves Are Yet Singing

by AdmirableMonster (Mertiya)



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Maglor Does The Hobbit, Aroace Bilbo, Canon-Typical Violence, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Ethical Dilemmas, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lindir is Maglor, M/M, Mirkwood, Mostly book-verse, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Redemption, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, platonic stuff is still & non-platonic stuff is still /
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/AdmirableMonster
Summary: (Or: Maglor Travels There And Back Again)A merry Elf from Rivendell asks to join the Company as their bard.  Begrudgingly and eventually, Thorin Oakenshield agrees.  He has no idea how far-reaching the ramifications will be of traveling with an ancient Elf who knows far too many people's ancestors for comfort and whose name is still whispered with loathing and fear by the Elves of Mirkwood -- or as they were once, the Elves of Doriath.But at least Lindir has some experience with dragon-slaying.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Maglor | Makalaurë/Thranduil, Bilbo Baggins & Thorin Oakenshield, Maglor | Makalaurë & Bilbo Baggins, Maglor | Makalaurë / Bard the Bowman, Maglor | Makalaurë/Thranduil
Comments: 189
Kudos: 150





	1. Why Go A-Roaming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I couldn't help it, I needed to start posting this or it was going to eat me alive. It's. It's pretty much what it says on the tin, but I'll be updating with further tags -- including relationship tags -- as the fic progresses.
> 
> It draws mostly from book-verse but a little bit of movie-verse has snuck in, including Bard's kids.
> 
> title from the poem in The Hobbit by Tolkien.

Although the day was fair and the birds were singing, Bilbo was not at all certain he wished to leave the hidden valley of Rivendell.It had been so lovely and calm and quiet there, and, as he was not a dwarf, he did not see that he had to bow to their silly dislike of the Elves.Indeed, he lingered so near the gate that Gandalf called out to him quite sharply to come along.But, before Bilbo could catch up, only a little regretfully, they heard Elrond’s voice calling out and turned to see him riding up on a white pony.Beside him was a second Elf, all in blue, holding a harp.Bilbo thought his face looked familiar, but he could not put a name to it.

Thorin rode back to meet the two Elves.“My lord Elrond?” he asked carefully—quite politely, though Bilbo thought from having known Thorin for some weeks now that it was the sort of freezing politeness he used to show that he was doing you a great favor.

“I have a…request,” Elrond said.He sounded faintly exasperated, and Bilbo was not quite certain he understood why.The dark-haired Elf beside him smiled. 

“You needn’t make it your own request, Elrond,” he put in.“He is only trying to make this easier for me.I wonder, Thorin Oakenshield, if I might join your company and travel with you?”He smiled winningly.Upon hearing his voice, Bilbo was almost certain that he had been one of the Elves who sang those beautiful, silly songs to the company as they entered the valley of Rivendell. Lindir, he thought the other Elves had called him.

The company itself reacted with varying degrees of shock.Thorin’s face went even more freezingly polite than it had been a moment before.Bilbo took a quick sidelong glance at Gandalf, but he could tell nothing about the wizard’s state of mind from his face—his expression of rather jolly vagueness was the same as it had always been.

“I am afraid we have not the supplies for another member of the company,” Thorin said slowly.

“Oh, that is all right,” replied the Elf, patting his saddle-bags.“I have more than enough for myself, and I would be happy to share.”

“This is a quest for Dwarves, not for Elves,” Thorin said, very much on his dignity.

“Do not think of me as an Elf, then.”His eyes twinkled, rather.Bilbo thought he might quite like this Elf.“You have a burglar, do you not?Clearly you are making this a proper quest.Well—you have no bard.”

There was some indignant muttering among the company.

“No dedicated bard,” the Elf corrected himself.“Not that you do not all have beautiful singing voices and a musicality I would wish upon all my pupils.”His eyes twinkled again.“Except, perhaps, for your Mister Baggins.”

“Well!” Bilbo squeaked, indignant in his turn.

“I assure you,” the Elf continued.“I have no desire to interfere with your quest—it is only that I would like to spend some time on an adventure in pleasant company.”

“Our quest is no light-hearted adventure,” Thorin growled.“No.That is my final word.”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows again, but the Elf merely spread his hands and shrugged.“I see I am not wanted.I shall not ask again.”

Bilbo caught the way Elrond and Gandalf exchanged looks, but he could not tell what sort of look they were.Still, he had no real time to ponder, for Thorin chose that moment to call to them to ride, and it took all his attention not to fall off the pony.

* * *

A grey rain had been falling intensely for some days.Bilbo huddled at the fire, pulling his hood tightly over his head and wishing for some shift in the dank, moist cold, or at least some distraction.He thought miserably that a good song would have gone a long way to cheering things up, but all the Company was just as gloomy as he was, and they did not seem in any mood to be merry.

“Holding up all right there, lad?” Balin asked, sitting himself beside Bilbo.“Ah—my old bones creak so.I am a bit over the hill for such adventures.”

“Then why did you come at all?” Bilbo asked, sounding a bit more bitter than perhaps he would have done under other circumstances.

Balin did not take any offense.He merely chuckled.“Someone has to keep an eye on Thorin and make sure he doesn’t end up too big for his boots,” he replied with amusement.“He’s a brave Dwarf, but he can be stubborn.Too stubborn for his own good, sometimes.”

“And he does not seem to like Elves,” Bilbo sighed.“ _I_ like Elves.I would have quite liked to have someone along and singing cheerfully.I don’t see why we had to be so rude to Lindir.”

Taking a pipe and flint out of his voluminous cloak, Balin packed the pipe with pipeweed.“Ah, well, our peoples have a long history, and it is not all of it very nice,” he said, meditatively.“But, to tell you the truth, I believe that Thorin simply did not want a companion as cheerful as Lindir seemed to be.”

“How stupid,” Bilbo grumbled, watching as Balin struggled to light the pipe in the pouring rain.“We could all use a bit of amusement these days.”Then, blowing on his hands, “Well, if we cannot have a song, could you tell me something more about the history of Dwarves and Elves?” he asked.He was rather proud of his knowledge of ancient lore, but he was rather aware that in the Shire his resources for discovering it were limited, and besides, if you wanted to hear the history of Elves and Dwarves, you could hardly ignore their own words.

“I am not going to sit here and give you a full history lesson,” Balin told him.The pipe sputtered sadly as he tried to shield it with one broad hand.“But I suppose I can tell you of one of the happier tales to pass the time.”

“Yes, please,” Bilbo said eagerly.Anything to keep his mind off of this abysmal weather.

“Very well, then.”Balin tried to draw on the pipe and coughed and frowned at the little wisp of blue smoke escaping from the top.“What use is a wizard if he can’t dry out our pipes?” he muttered beneath his breath.Then he continued, “You know of the Ages, hobbit?”

Bilbo gave him an irritable look.“I may not be a Dwarf, but I am not unlearned,” he retorted, very much on his dignity.“If our people have passed rather out of memory of the Dwarves and Elves, they have not passed out of ours.”

“There, there, lad, just making sure I didn’t have to set the scene too much.Well, then.Long ago, in the First Age, the Dwarves and Elves were suspicious of one another but had no real cause for enmity.The Lord of Belegost, Azaghâl, was traveling in East Beleriand to reach the wedding of his eldest child.”

“Telling old stories?” Thorin’s deep voice interrupted them, and Bilbo frowned irritably in his direction.“No, do not let me stop you, I only came to say that I am doubling the watches for tonight.”

“And why is that?” Balin asked, relieving Bilbo of the necessity of doing so himself.The poor little hobbit was totting up with some horror what an extra watch would do to his sleep.

“Because I believe someone may be following us,” growled Thorin.“And I do not intend to take chances.”

He stomped on.Balin sighed.“I cannot tell if his sharper senses have noticed something I have not, or if it is only his grandfather’s habit of jumping at shadows.”He shook his head.“Well, never mind.On with the tale.Azaghâl and his retinue were caught unawares in a narrow mountain path by a patrol of Orcs—goblins, you know.”

Bilbo drew his knees into his chest, shivering a little at the images presented.He loved such tales when he was reading them safe in his own little study.Out here in the wilderness, they seemed much more real, and he was not certain he liked it.

“They fought valiantly, of course, but they were overwhelmed and would have been killed had not an Elvish war party sighted them.As I was always told the tale, they were quite begrudging about the necessity to be rescued.”He chuckled.“None of us like to ask for help.I believe the story goes that the leader of the Elves pulled three Orcs off of Azaghâl and the Dwarf Lord shouted, ‘You could have left me _one_ , lad!’ But our folk did not acquit themselves badly.Azaghâl himself and the leader of the Elves—Maedhros Fëanorion, if you have heard the name—”

Bilbo had and he made a suitably awed noise.Balin paused.“Did you hear another noise?” he said questioningly.“Like a twig snapping?”

Straining his ears and eyes, Bilbo squinted out into the darkness.“I am not sure,” he said, after a moment.He certainly could see nothing, but it seemed to him there were a few strange little noises.But then he was not sure he would be able to distinguish such noises easily from the normal sounds of this wild place.

“Hrm.”Balin grunted.“Perhaps Thorin was right.”He got up and peered out, then sat down again.“Well, never mind.If it is someone with ill intent, we will run them off.”

“Continue the story?” Bilbo begged.He did so enjoy a good historical tale.And the Fëanorions had captured his imagination even back when he was a little faunt.He hadn’t told anyone except his mother, but she had read him old tales to fall asleep to, and he had dreamed of great heroes and great tragedy.

“Well, then.”Balin nodded.“Azaghâl and Maedhros fought back to back and together slew hundreds of Orcs, or so the story goes.Afterwards, great friendship arose between our peoples, and Azaghâl presented Maedhros with a jeweled helm which had been intended as one of the wedding gifts.It was all he had on him at the time, and it is said Maedhros protested heartily, but finally accepted.”

“Dear me,” Bilbo said faintly.“A jeweled helm?”

“Huge,” Balin said eagerly.“Gold-plated for decoration, but made to take a proper blow.Good dwarven craftsmanship.Not too gaudy, either, but certainly fit for a king.”

“Whatever became of it?” Bilbo asked, and Balin shrugged.

“It passes from our lore after that,” he said.“I do not know if the Elves kept it or if they gifted it to someone else in their turn.If so, I hope they did not pretend they had created it!” And he frowned so forbiddingly that Bilbo felt he had to say, “Oh—I am sure they would not do such a thing!”

“Nay, probably not,” Balin conceded.“They were not bad folk.Not then, at least.”

As they sat in some somber silence, Bilbo swore he heard a few soft, clear notes plucked out upon a harp, but quickly silenced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for readers familiar with the Hobbit but not the Silmarillion: The Fëanorions are seven brothers (including Maedhros, the eldest, and Maglor, the second), who were very valiant heroes indeed until they were done in by the bane of heroes everywhere in Tolkien, ie shiny rocks.
> 
> But they generally got on okay with Dwarves; it was another group of Elves who really, really did not (see again: Mirkwood and some of its previous rulers).


	2. Rending Beak of Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lindir joins the Company and Bilbo is introduced to many eagles.

Bilbo had never smelled anything half as delightful as the crisp mountain air after the dank goblin tunnels.He stood shivering and blowing upon his hands, for the only thing remotely warm about them was the little golden ring he still wore upon his index finger.As he stood, he heard the sound of voices drifting up to him from down the slope and rejoiced, for they sounded very Dwarvish, those voices.With a breath of great relief, he began to trot downwards towards the sound of conversation.

Angry conversation, he realized as he neared.“—came upon us unawares—least he could have done would have been to find the burglar!”

And a clear musical voice responded, “If I had seen your burglar, I certainly would have tried to fetch him, but unfortunately I was too busy saving _your_ life, Master Oakenshield!”

 _Oh dear_ , Bilbo thought.He plucked the ring from off his finger and popped it carefully into his pocket before hurrying down the slope towards them.

As he had half-expected, the company stood in a circle in a little clearing, with the Elf Lindir in the center, clutching his harp and looking frustrated, while Thorin paced before him, black as thunder, and Gandalf paced at the back, puffing on his pipe quite fiercely.He was the first to look up and see Bilbo, and his countenance cleared a little.Bilbo waved gingerly and slipped down the slope towards the others.Thorin was quite obviously too taken up with anger at Lindir to notice him.

“I will not have an Elf sneaking about and putting my company in danger!” Thorin roared.“You cannot depend upon Elves!”

Lindir’s mouth drew into a fine line, but all he said, mildly, was, “Had I not been here, your company would have been short a member.Is that not dependable enough for you?”

“I do not know what game you are playing—”

Gandalf broke in.“I recognize that you are no friend to Elves, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said gruffly, “though you were happy enough to receive the hospitality of Elrond Half-Elven, it seems.”Then his eyes glinted.“But I can tell you that, all things considered, Lindir is not considered much of a friend to Elves either.”

Bilbo watched with interest as the Elf’s ears quivered suddenly, and he opened his mouth but had no time to speak before Gandalf did. 

“Master Lindir has killed more Elves than I imagine you have ever met,” Gandalf continued cheerfully.

There was quite the silence at that.Bilbo took the opportunity to clear his throat.“Hello, I’m back,” he said, rather idiotically.

“Bilbo!” everyone cried at that—everyone apart from Thorin, who was still glaring at Lindir, and the Elf, who had clearly decided that silence was safer than allowing Gandalf to say anything further about him. Bilbo was immediately swamped with well-wishes and congratulations and not a few utterances of “we thought for certain you were dead”.

“Well, I am not dead,” Bilbo said, awkwardly.He opened his mouth to explain the whole story and then decided he was too tired.“Not much happened.I wandered about in the darkness for a bit and got very lost before I managed to slip past the goblins and find my way out.”

“Then you have certainly had a better time of it than we did!” Kíli laughed.“Why, we were taken before the Great Goblin himself!And he did his best to kill us, for he did not at all take to our weaponry!”

“Dear me,” Bilbo said, internally thinking he would rather have dealt with a hundred goblins than the horrible dark creature who had nearly devoured him.Although he had gained a lovely trinket from it, so perhaps it was worth it, all the same.“You must have all fought very valiantly!” he said.

“We did,” grumbled Thorin.

Dori put in, then, “Very valiantly indeed,” and then shot a shrewd, amused look sideways at Thorin.“Though I am afraid we should have lost our leader if it had not been for Master Lindir’s timely arrival.”

Thorin glared.“I was fine,” he said frostily.

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Dori, “if by fine you mean there was a goblin twice your size about to cleave you in two parts with his massive axe.”

“I was _fine_ , I did not need an _Elf_ to—”

“Allow me to apologize for the crime of saving your life!” Lindir broke in.“Had I realized that the saving of a Dwarf was accounted as heinous a deed as the slaying of an Elf, I should certainly have stayed my hand.”

“That is not—” Thorin interrupted himself this time, to make a noise like _harrumph_ and glare.“What is it you wish in recompense, master Elf?” he said, finally, frostily.

“Oh, indeed, I only saved your most precious life for the purpose of using it against you later,” said Lindir, sounding truly irritated for the first time.“But if it must be a boon I beg, then the boon I beg is quite straightforward, great Dwarf.I still wish to accompany you and yours, and I think I have demonstrated well enough that I may be relied upon!”

Thorin coughed and opened his mouth again, probably to refuse yet again, but Gandalf spoke first.“Do you really know what you are doing, Lindir?” he asked, his beetling brows furrowing.

“Do I ever?” Lindir replied lightly enough, though the irritation still reverberated in his voice.

“Hrm.”Gandalf looked over at Thorin.“I can tell you that he will be of service.He is a fine horseman and from long experience I know that he has no desire to put himself forward.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence after your previous introduction,”the Elf said, rather dryly, but he spoke no more and let Thorin consider.

“Very well,” he said, finally, with clearly bad grace.“But I do not want to _catch_ you putting yourself forward.”

“Oh, indeed, you may rely upon me to allow you to die the next time you are in peril.” The bard’s voice was now very dry indeed, and Kíli and Fíli both laughed loudly at his response.

“Come, uncle,” Kíli said, “Elves have saved Dwarves before and been given better thanks for it than the meager allowance of accompanying them on a long and dangerous journey.”He subsided when Thorin glared at him, but he stuck his tongue out at his uncle’s back when Thorin turned away.

“Not to interrupt,” squeaked Bilbo, “but does anyone else hear that howling?”

* * *

Bilbo was tired of running.He did not run as fast as everyone else did, because his legs were too short.And it was particularly unpleasant to be running away from goblins again.“Come along, master burglar,” Lindir said, pausing beside him.“I have no wish to be insulting, but my legs are a good deal longer than yours, and I could carry you faster than you can run.”

“Thank you very much,” puffed Bilbo, letting Lindir hoist him up onto his back.

“At least _you_ do not mind having your life saved,” Lindir sighed.

“No, indeed, I very much appreciate it!” Bilbo retorted as Lindir took off running again after the rest of the Dwarves. 

They had just come to a little ring of trees when the source of the howling burst into the clearing.“Into the trees!” cried Gandalf. 

“Up!” Lindir gasped.“Up, up, up!”He boosted Bilbo up the side of the tree, and Bilbo scrambled up with the help of the Dwarves.Lindir turned, raising his harp as if in defiance, and Gandalf’s loud voice called, “Do not be a fool if you can help it, Makalaurë!”

There was a dreadful dissonant clamor as the Elf’s fingers came down in a jarring chord on the harp, but he turned and began to climb after Bilbo.

“You certainly do seem to be bringing us wonderful luck, master bard,” Bifur told him.

“I do not doubt it is the scent of Dwarves that has drawn them hither,” Lindir retorted breathlessly.“And I note you would have left your burglar behind yet again had I not been here.” 

“Quiet, all of you,” Gandalf said sternly.“I must listen to what the wargs are saying to one another.”

Bilbo crouched upon his branch and clung to it for dear life.He was getting more and more tired of things trying to eat him, although he took some small comfort in the wargs’ inability to climb up the trees.Surely Gandalf would be able to find them a way out now. 

“All right there, master burglar?” Lindir asked him, sounding quite sympathetic.

“I will be fine,” Bilbo told him.“I do wish I had a handkerchief, though, I am sweating so much.”

He got a smile for that.“A moment.I believe I have a spare.”The Elf dug around in his pouch and pulled out a delightfully clean-looking square of cloth, which he handed up to Bilbo.

“Bless you!” Bilbo said fervently, mopping at his forehead.“I do not know why one is expected to have such very intense adventures without some small comforts!And—” he added energetically, “—I do not like wolves at all!”

“Foul those these creatures may be, at least they are not werewolves,” Lindir said.“My cousin tore the throat out of a werewolf once, but it was the end of him.”

Bilbo blinked at him.“Er?With…what?”

“His teeth,” Lindir replied cheerfully.“But then he was always very overdramatic.Ah, look—Gandalf is setting the wolves alight.”He frowned.“Not, perhaps, my first choice in a densely forested area,” he murmured.“But then, most of our first choices appear to have been exhausted.”

The wolves were made extremely unhappy by the fire, and Bilbo could not help but admire Gandalf’s fireworks—used, in this case, in a very different context from those he had seen before.He was just beginning to feel as if perhaps they might escape this predicament when the goblins arrived.

At his elbow, Lindir muttered something that sounded _very_ obscene, but Bilbo did not recognize the language and was too busy eying the jeering goblins to pay it much attention.The goblins had begun to gather up some of the fiery branches and were now carrying them towards the trees, singing something awful and raucous and terrifying.“ _Sixteen birds in five fir trees…_ ”

Bilbo shuddered.Gandalf shouted something, and Lindir took up his harp and began to play.It was loud—far louder than Bilbo had expected, a far louder sound than one lone Elf with a harp and his voice should have been able to produce.Loud and harsh and somehow joyful, all at once.It made the goblins’ song sound like the paltry squeaking of rats in comparison.The words, too, vibrated with defiance.

_Of the High King’s courage are legends sung:_

_For him and his folk many bells have been rung._

_Brave he was and kind and true;_

_The banner he raised was silver and blue._

_For love and honor he crossed the ice_

_Although he paid a terrible price._

_The Sun shone golden from his hair_

_No deed renowned he would not dare._

_All creatures loved him, great and small_

_And the lord of eagles came at his call_

_And carried him safe to his true love’s side_

_Without him his love would surely have died._

It was a fierce, angry, beautiful song, and it halted the goblins in their tracks for a moment.All of them stared upward with no little fear—Bilbo himself half-expected the mythical High King to appear out of nowhere and put them to flight.Of course, it did not happen, and they restarted their own foul song soon enough.

Bilbo saw now that Gandalf was drawing himself to his full height upon the topmost branch of the fir tree, and he wondered whether he had a purpose in it.Could he save them?Or was this—was this really the end of them all, and the little hobbit too?Poor Bilbo felt very afraid at the thought of being burned to a crisp, despite Lindir’s heartening song.And then, something vast and white swooped down out of the sky and whisked Gandalf away.Lindir stared upwards, his mouth open in utter shock.As the second of the creatures winged down and caught up several of the Dwarves, Bilbo squeaked with amazement, “Did you summon the lord of the eagles with your song, Lindir?”

“Did I—” Lindir stared blankly back at him.“No—I.I cannot think how—”

“Either way,” Bilbo interrupted him.“We should not stay here.”He took the Elf’s hand and pulled him up the tree.“Come on.”

“I cannot,” Lindir gasped as they made their way upward.“Eagles—they would not—they would not wish to carry _me_.”

“We are hardly going to leave you here,” Bilbo told him.“Come _on_.”

“But—” Lindir tried again.

“I do not like heights at all,” Bilbo said firmly.“And I am certain this will be absolutely terrifying and I will probably fall off and die, but at least it is better than being burned to a crisp by those horrible goblins.” 

“Well, yes, but—”

“No buts.”Bilbo raised his arms.“Over here!We’re still here, too!”

He heard Lindir swear in that peculiar language again as the last of the eagles swooped down and snatched up them both.

* * *

Bilbo had decided that he did not like flying.It was growing quite dark by the time the eagles brought them to their eyrie, and he and Lindir were deposited on a ledge by themselves, away from the rest of the Dwarves.Bilbo looked about and tried to stand up, but found that his knees were too shaky for it.“Oh, dear,” he said helplessly.“Where do you suppose the Dwarves and Gandalf are?”

“I do not know, I am afraid,” Lindir said somberly.“I hope very much that I have not brought trouble upon you, Master Baggins.”

“Why should you have?” Bilbo asked.“You were so reluctant for the Eagles to carry you and—well, I can certainly understand that—but you seemed to have some reason other than the fact that heights are—” he shuddered, “—do you know, I think I should very much prefer the open sea to flying ever again?And we hobbits are not much of ones for boats, most of us.”

Lindir frowned.He had an expression on his face that reminded Bilbo oddly of some of his younger nephews and nieces when they had been at the jam cupboard.“Ahm,” he said, finally.“I have lived for a long time, and—and—do you know of the Valar?”

“Yes, of course.We are hardly so primitive as that,” Bilbo told him primly, though, in truth, he would not be at all surprised to find that Lobelia, for instance, had no more heard the term “Valar” than she had left his spoons alone.

“Then do you know who the Eagles serve?” Lindir asked.He was not looking at Bilbo, but up into the dark and starry sky.

Bilbo frowned, trying to recall the books he had read.“The lord of all the Valar, I believe,” he said, “though I cannot remember his name.”

“Manwë,” Lindir said softly.“Yes.Well, I am not well-beloved of the Valar.”

“How can you _possibly_ be not well-beloved of the Valar?” asked Bilbo, irritably.“Why, if they are not a myth, they certainly do not concern themselves with doings in Middle Earth.”

Lindir bit his lip.“Well…and it is not regarding doings in Middle Earth,” he mumbled, at last.“Or not—solely.”

Giving him a suspicious look, Bilbo opened his mouth to ask a further question, but before he could, one of the Eagles landed beside him, and it was all he could do to avoid shrieking like a tea-kettle.“The Lord of the Eagles would speak to you,” he said frostily. 

“Master Baggins and I—” Lindir began, and then shut his mouth when the Eagle turned one great yellow eye on him.

“You may explain to him what it is you wish to say,” he said, and he clacked his beak in a way that made the poor little hobbit feel quite faint.

His stomach nearly fell out of his boots when the Eagle picked them up once more and carried them across to another ledge, where, to his relief, Gandalf and all the Dwarves stood before an Eagle even larger than the one carrying them.Gandalf and he seemed to be having quite an animated discussion, to Bilbo’s further relief.The Eagle dropped Lindir and Bilbo off, and then winged away.

“Ah,” said the Lord of the Eagles.“Your last two companions, I see, Gandalf.”He fixed both of them with a beady eye.“They will both eat meat?”

Bilbo nodded, grateful for the mention of food, for he had just begun to realize how hungry he was.Lindir bowed deeply.“I will eat whatever is put before me,” he replied quietly and politely.

“Indeed?”

There was a slight smile hovering about the Elf’s mouth.“It is very unlikely to be the worst thing I have ever eaten,” he returned.“Meaning no offense, your lordship, as I am certain any meal you have to offer will be delicious.”

“None taken, I understand you well enough.How is your son?”

Lindir blinked at him.“Oh—ah—mmm—he is well.I did not realize—”

“Perhaps he did not tell you that he had been taking council with us?” pondered the Lord of the Eagles.“Well, it is no matter.”

“And who exactly is Master Lindir’s son?” Thorin asked, with the suggestion of a sneer.

Eyes widening slightly, Lindir opened his mouth, evidently to respond, but Gandalf got there first.“Why, Elrond Half-Elven, of course,” he said cheerfully.“Surely you did not think he sprang fully-formed from the aether?”

This response did nothing to ease the tension.Thorin’s eyebrows went up and then down in a suspicious sort of bouncing motion.“Surely that makes you a person of importance, Master Lindir?” he asked.“Why, then, did you leave Rivendell?Why is your son master of Rivendell?”

“I am not a person of importance,” Lindir replied dryly.“I left Rivendell because, as I told you, I desired adventure.And as for Elrond, he is the master of Rivendell—sometimes called Imladris—because he founded it and it is his magic that protects it.Now, please, Master Baggins is really quite famished—I heard his stomach protesting again—might we move to the matter of supper?”

Although Thorin seemed inclined towards argument, he was shouted down by a bevy of discontented and clearly very hungry Dwarves.Bilbo was not at all averse to all this blasted talking being finished so that he might eat something, but he did notice the way that Lindir kept his head tipped every so slightly downwards towards the Lord of Eagles, and the way his body language seemed almost consciously deferential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for readers familiar with the Hobbit but not the Silm:  
> \- The Fëanorions killed OH so many other Elves in the pursuit of their dad's shiny rocks  
> \- they also swore an Oath that was VERY disapproved of by the Valar (angels/demigods/gods of a lower rank than the Creator Eru)  
> \- Maglor is rather well-known as both a bard and a master of horses  
> \- Maglor's older brother's lover Fingon saved his life when he was captured by Sauron, there's a lot of details I'm not going into here but that's what Maglor is singing about  
> \- Finrod, Maglor's cousin, did in fact tear out a werewolf's throat with his teeth while he was Sauron's captive to save Beren (he of Beren and Lúthien fame)


	3. Back to Lands You Once Did Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Dwarves meet a Personage, and Lindir comes face to face with an old possession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from a poem in The Hobbit
> 
> warnings for very light implied/referenced half-cousin incest

In the morning, everything seemed a great deal more cheerful.They had great slabs of sizzling bacon, which Bilbo particularly appreciated, and Lindir and Fíli and Kíli started up a cheerful nonsense song.Several of the other Dwarves sang along as well, although Thorin grumbled loudly about making too much noise and how they could not keep being so noisy when they were going to try and deal with a dragon.Gandalf smoked his pipe cheerfully and told him not to be such a wet blanket.Balin leaned back and Bilbo caught him watching Lindir very carefully, which did make him wonder.He found that he was wondering as well—those words of Lindir’s that had implied he had not spent all his life in Middle Earth had raised a number of questions that Bilbo did not feel remotely close to having an answer to.It did not perhaps matter, but he was curious.

They took their leave merrily enough of the Eagles, who carried them out to a place by a large rock that Gandalf said was the Carrock.“I am afraid we must ask for some help at this point,” he said with a frown.“You are safely over the mountains now, as I promised, but we have no baggage, no supplies, and no ponies.So I think we must ask the person who called it the Carrock for some help.I will have to be leaving you soon, but not, I think, just yet.”

“Leaving!” exclaimed Ori.“You are not coming the whole way?”

“I am afraid I have urgent business elsewhere,” Gandalf replied, and for a moment, all traces of mirth were gone from his countenance.“Thorin, I told you so well before we set out.”

“Indeed you did,” Thorin agreed, “but I must confess I had hoped to keep you a while longer or thought perhaps that your business might be set aside for a little.”

“It cannot wait,” Gandalf said; he fixed his gaze on Lindir and said, “There is a darkness rising once again that I believe Master Lindir knows only too well.I spoke with Elrond about it as well.”

“Yes,” Lindir replied softly.“Were I other than I am, I would offer you assistance, Mithrandir.But as it is, I do not think that is wise.”

“And I do not ask it, for it is not so urgent as of yet,” Gandalf said, and that was all he would say on the matter.He turned instead to explaining that the certain person who had named the Carrock might be prevailed upon for help, but that he could be a little queer and a little difficult to get along with.“So, Master Lindir, since he is distrustful of Dwarves but his people in ancient times were friendly with yours, can I ask you and Master Bilbo to approach him first?”

“Send the Elf alone with the burglar?” exploded Thorin.“So that he may talk this Person of yours into cutting all our throats, no doubt!”

Lindir rolled his eyes expressively.“Indeed, I wish for nothing more than your death, Thorin Oakenshield,” he said in a totally deadpan voice.“That is why I saved your life not three days ago from a goblin’s axe.”

“Yes—well—hrumph,” Thorin said, not very clearly, but he subsided.

“Well, Mr. Baggins,” Lindir said, extending a hand.“Shall we approach this great personage of Gandalf’s?”

* * *

Beorn’s house was vast, light and airy.It would not have been Bilbo’s choice as a place to live—not snug enough nor cozy enough—but as a place of respite after the past few weary weeks, he liked it very well indeed.They had a leisurely tea featuring scones and bread and jam and honey, and Bilbo admitted to himself as he piled clotted cream onto his fifth scone that he was finally starting to feel full again for the first time since he had stepped out of Bag End.The Elvish food at Rivendell had been close, but—not quite.Perhaps it was more filling for Elves. 

Lindir had finished eating and was moving about in a restless fashion, flitting from place to place in the house.Beorn watched him, his brows drawn together.

“Do sit down,” Balin said, finally, voicing what Bilbo suspected was a unified feeling among the Dwarves that this might constitute antagonizing their host.

“Ai, am I moving about too much for a fine meal?I am sorry.”Lindir passed behind Beorn’s chair and paused, his eyes apparently drawn to a heavy dark side-table covered in a rich green velvet cloth, in the center of which lay a rather battered torc of some black metal.It was not particularly ornate, a set of metal strands twisted together with two knobs on each end, but there appeared to be a wobbly decoration etched into them.

“Where did you get this?”There was a strange expression on Lindir’s face as reached out towards the simple twisted metal torc, though he stopped himself short of touching it.

“A family heirloom,” Beorn told him.“I had an ancestor who was given it by an Elven king.”

“You look as though you recognized it,” Bilbo said hesitantly, wondering if he was being rude, and Lindir gave a small, surprised noise.Thorin snorted, but Balin frowned and leaned towards him.

“I—well, I do,” Lindir said, after a moment.“May I touch it?”

“I see no reason why not, as long as you are careful,” Beorn told him in his curt way.“It is strong and very old.”

“ _Very_ old,” breathed Lindir, and then looked up.“Your ancestor—was his name by any chance Balan?”

“Balan?”The dark eyes of the skin-changer were hard to read.“There are few yet living who have heard that name.”

“Bëor, then,” Lindir insisted, then shook his head.“I am sorry, perhaps it is not my place to ask.”He stroked his fingers lovingly down the braided metal.

“No, it is all right,” Beorn replied slowly, his eyes still watching Lindir closely.“Perhaps we may talk of it later.”

“How old _is_ it?” Bilbo wanted to know, and Lindir laughed.

“It was made before the Sun and the Moon.For someone I cared about very deeply, once.Long ago.”

“ _You_ made it?Just how old are you, lad?” Balin asked, then pulled at his beard.“I suppose I shouldn’t call you ‘lad’, should I?”

Lindir laughed.“I do not mind.But as for my age, that is embarrassing and I would rather not go into it.”He took up the torc and turned it over in his hands. 

“Who did you make it for?” asked Kíli curiously.

A small smile hovered around Lindir’s mouth.“A friend.A cousin.A lover.”

Bilbo, recalling what he knew about Elves, said eagerly, “Elrond’s mother?”Beside the fire, Gandalf made a loud choking noise, and Lindir’s eyes fluttered to him and then to Bilbo.

“Ah,” he said.“No.”

It was not a polite question, but they were out in the middle of the wilderness, and Bilbo was quite curious, and in any case, when else would he have the chance to ask?“I thought Elves loved only once, and that forever?” he asked timidly.

“Someone has been telling you stories,” Lindir chuckled.“Or you have been reading that awful translation of Laws and Customs of the Eldar, I suppose.”

“So it isn’t true?”

“Well, it is common enough for us to only want to take one spouse, but there are many exceptions.”

Bilbo frowned.“What do you mean by _lover_?” he asked.“I am given to understand that it usually refers to the, er, the physical act of—but I thought that was equivalent to marriage for Elves.”

“Well, so my father would have you believe,” Lindir said, a little tartly.“And he was not the only one.”His face softened a little, going a little wistful.“I—do not speak of him as a husband for I do not know if he would have called himself such, in the end.We were lovers, though, I can say that with no question.”

“I must say, I have never really known what the fuss is all about,” Bilbo confessed.“I have never looked at another hobbit and thought that I wanted—” he waved a hand, “any of that romantic stuff.Or the other stuff either,” he concluded, with not a little confusion.

“It is not for everyone,” Lindir agreed kindly.

“Perhaps not, but it is expected in the Shire,” Bilbo said glumly.

“Well, what can you expect from a people who refuse to go past the borders of Bree?” grunted Gandalf.“No, Bilbo, there are a great many more shapes and sizes of thinking than the Shire will have told you.”His great beetling brows drew down into a point.“Although I would have thought your mother wouldn’t have put up with such nonsense.”

Bilbo sputtered indignantly; to his surprise Lindir put a hand on his shoulder.“Don’t tease the poor fellow so, Gandalf,” he said lightly.“Hard enough to grow up not to fit a mold everyone expects you to, as I know quite well.”

This, Bilbo felt, was quite kind, but it did make him wonder.There seemed to be a great many mysteries about Lindir, and he was not too sure how he felt about them.Bother it, he was growing as suspicious as those Dwarves.

* * *

The rest of the Company was asleep.Even Gandalf was dozing in front of the fire.Lindir got up stealthily, casting a look about, and then tiptoed outside, and Bilbo, frowning a little, followed him.It was probably rude, he considered, to eavesdrop on Beorn when he was a guest, but he was curious.And he _was_ a burglar and there was still some concern over Lindir’s motivations, besides.

Outside, Beorn was sitting smoking a pipe and staring off at the stars.Lindir paused.“I did know him, if that is what you were going to ask,” he said quietly.

“How well?” Beorn asked.

Bilbo could not see Lindir’s face from his vantage point tucked back in the shadows of the door with his ring upon his finger, but he suspected from his tone that the Elf was smirking a little.“Very well indeed.A fine Man, Balan.”His tone changed into something more respectful.“Very fine.Finer than many other beings I have met, yes, even some in Valinor.”

“How kind,” Beorn said gruffly.“If a little condescending, Master Elf.”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to be.I did not only mean Elves of Valinor, you know—but perhaps you do not.”He shook his head.“It has been long since I traveled among Men, and it is one of the reasons I came with this Company.I do not think it is good for me to spend too long only among immortals.I forget…” his voice trailed off softly.“There is much I have to learn.”

“Aye, well, a pretty speech, you’re forgiven, I suppose.I have met few Elves who would hold a mortal in such high esteem.”

“Too many of them have met too few.” He smiled.“I am glad I have had the opportunity to meet you and see what has become of my terrible old torc.”

Beorn peered at him over his pipe.“Would you have it returned to you now?” he asked.

“Stars, no!” Lindir cried.“It is not mine any longer, and in any case was never intended to be mine.I made it for my husband, and he gave it to his.”He paused, his lips tilting and twisting slightly.“Approximately.”

“Does that make you my very great grandfather?” Beorn asked in some amusement.

“I suppose you might say so,” Lindir replied coolly.“It is not as if I have no family in strange places.”A wistful look came into his eyes.

“Did you lose them both?” Beorn asked, sounding somewhat abrupt.

Lindir bit his lip and nodded.“Mortals are so _brave_ ,” he murmured.“They face so much loss and hardship and all of it in the blink of an eye—and I have sung sad songs about my own for far longer than you have lived.”

“You get used to it,” Beorn replied.“I am always amazed at Elves who can speak with mortals as if they see us, particularly the ancient ones.”He raised an eyebrow.“Perhaps it only works with family, eh?”

Another rill of bright laughter.“Perhaps.Perhaps that is why I am always so hasty to find more family, when I can.Or perhaps that is because I am—” He cut himself off.“Well.I am truly glad I was able to come here and meet you, Beorn the Skin-changer.And truly glad that you are keeping my old torc so carefully.”

Beorn reached out with his free hand and patted Lindir’s wrist, and Bilbo decided that perhaps he ought to slip away, for it seemed he would only hear more things of a personal nature, and so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for readers familiar with the Hobbit and not the Silm:
> 
> Maglor is talking about his (half-)cousin Finrod (he of werewolf-throat-chomping fame) and the Man Bëor, the ancestor of Beren, who met Finrod when he came over the mountains.


	4. The World of Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Company enters Mirkwood, under protest.

Lindir had been restless the entire day, ever since they had left Beorn’s cottage and started upon the road again.Each moment he seemed to be doing something else—first plucking out a few bars of a song, next shifting back and forth over his pony, then reciting a poem or telling a tale. 

They came, as the sun rose high in the sky, to the dark forest of Mirkwood.“I am afraid here is where I must take my leave,” Gandalf announced, to many wailing and groaning cries.

“Wait,” Lindir said, his eyes darting from Gandalf to the greenwood and back.“You expect us to travel through _Mirkwood_ , Gandalf?”

“It is the only way to reach Erebor.”Gandalf’s eyes twinkled under his enormous broad-brimmed hat.

“Hardly that,” Lindir protested.“It may mean a longer journey, but—”

“By a good six hundred miles,” Gandalf interrupted him.

“Of course if Gandalf says we are going through, we will go through,” Thorin snorted, choosing this moment to ride up, as if he had sensed the discord.Bilbo wondered if he would have been so eager if it had not been so clear that the bard was nonplussed.

“ _Gandalf_ ,” Lindir said in a low voice.“You know that I, of all people, should not set foot within the bounds of Mirkwood.”

“If you will not come with us, I suppose we must leave you here,” Thorin said, his dark eyes snapping above his thick beard.Lindir looked almost helplessly from one Dwarf to the next and over to Bilbo.“You can ride with Gandalf.”

“I am afraid not,” Gandalf said gently.“My road is a difficult one, and it is one that I take alone.Master Lindir, you may ride back to Beorn and from thence back to Rivendell if you must.But otherwise, yes, you must go through Mirkwood.”

“I truly do not think this is wise,” Lindir said, after another short hesitation.“But I will not abandon you with your quest half fulfilled.I ask only that you do not stray from the path, at any cost—”

“As Gandalf has already warned us,” Thorin said impatiently.“As I imagine you would know, if you had been paying enough attention to know that we must make our way through Mirkwood in the first place.”

“And let us avoid any of the Elves of this place,” Lindir continued coolly, as if Thorin had not spoken.

* * *

Someone was crying.Bilbo, always a light sleeper, woke easily, blinking his eyes open to see the dancing shadows of the dark trees of Mirkwood.Groggily, he sat up and saw that on his other side, Lindir was sitting up as well.The two of them exchanged worried looks and then got to their feet.

Fíli was the one who was crying, pressing his face into his arms while his twin brother whispered into his ear and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Everything all right?” Lindir asked quietly.

“Nightmare,” Kíli said in a low voice.“We’re all right, really.”

Bilbo tutted, wishing their supplies were not running so low.Still—“I will make some tea,” he said determinedly, “although I may have to supplement tea leaves with acorns, for which I apologize in advance.”

“Oh, you needn’t do that,” Fíli protested between sniffles.“I’m fine, really.”

“I insist,” Bilbo told him.He began to potter about and ready their small fire to brew up a nice cup, while Lindir seated himself beside the twins.

“Would you like a song?” he asked.“My children will tell you I am not terrible at the art of singing lullabies.”

The image of Elrond as a small child being sung to sleep filled Bilbo’s mind.It was equal parts beautiful and deeply confusing.

“Perhaps,” Fíli allowed, his voice still a little tremulous.“Do you know any stories?”

“A great number of them,” Lindir replied, as Bilbo set their little iron kettle on to boil.“Some of them are even true.”

“Did you really kill all those Elves?” Kíli asked abruptly, then went _oof_ as his twin elbowed him in the side.

“Yes,” Lindir admitted.“I am afraid that I did.”

“Why?” Kíli asked, in a hushed tone of voice.“He can tell me to stop if he wants,” he hissed at Fíli, who was making frantic shushing motions.

“Why indeed.”Lindir sighed heavily.“A number of reasons, most of which in the end boiled down to terrible mistakes.I am not proud of what I did, but there is little enough I can do to put it right, these many ages later.”He stared off moodily into the middle distance as Bilbo finished heating the water and started divvying up tea leaves between the Dwarves’ sturdy metal traveling mugs.“It would be a very, very long story if I told it from beginning to end,” Lindir said finally.“And it is one that is too sad, I think, for middle of the night teatime.If you truly wish it, I will tell it to you some other time.”

“All right,” Kíli agreed.“That’s only fair, I suppose.”

Bilbo was just coming back over with the mugs when Dwalin and Bofur, both yawning, wandered over.“Smelled tea,” Dwalin explained, with Bofur nodding inquiringly behind her.“What’s all this then?” _Her_ , because Dwarves did not seem to ascribe to the same notions of gender as Hobbits did, either.To the best of Bilbo’s understanding, Dwarves did not really _have_ a concept of gender in their native tongue.There was apparently only one pronoun.Most Dwarves, having beards and thus being assumed to be equivalent to Men, went with ‘he’ because they did not care and it appeared to lead to less confusion.Some did not.Dwalin was very adamant that she be referred to in this manner and Bofur had apparently adopted ‘they’, which Bilbo found even more consternating but tried to honor to the best of his ability.To do otherwise would obviously be impolite.

“Midnight teatime,” Lindir replied amusedly.“I believe I am to be the entertainment.”

“Shall I make more tea?” Bilbo sighed.

“What a grand idea,” Bofur told him with a bright smile.“I would love some tea.”

Muttering to himself about ungrateful traveling companions, Bilbo put the kettle back onto the fire.Bofur laughed and came over to the fire as well.“No, no, Mr. Baggins, I will do it, it is only fair,” they said, moving past him.“Go have your tea before it gets cold.”

Bilbo took his mug and went over to sit on a fallen log beside Lindir and near Fíli and Kíli, who were apparently still bombarding poor Lindir with questions.

“Shall I not sing a song for you?” Lindir pleaded.“Surely it would be of more use than you asking me about dark stories.”

“Distractions are of great use,” Fíli told him practically.“But very well, since it seems you would rather sing than tell us grand tales of adventures.”

“I would rather be on this adventure now than any of the other tales I could tell you, and it seems a little redundant to tell you stories of your recent experiences.”

Kíli sipped at his tea and frowned.“Why did you come on this adventure?If your others have been so dark—I hope Thorin was not right about Elves that they cannot be serious when it is necessary.Do you think this a mere—dalliance?”

Dwalin grunted in agreement, pacing around behind them.

The Elf twisted a hand in his dark hair, then sighed softly.“It is not that Elves cannot be serious when necessary,” he said quietly.“It is that many of us are so ancient that if we cannot laugh, we must weep, and I have done more than my share of weeping.Why did I come on this adventure?Well, I will tell you.”He gave them a beautiful smile; Bilbo thought his face seemed almost luminous.“I know what it is like not to be able to go home again.”

All of them were very silent at his words.Bilbo saw that Fíli moved almost imperceptibly closer to him, and the expression on Dwalin’s face softened from its usual pugilism.“There, you see!” Lindir exclaimed.“Now we have all become so serious.Let me sing of laughter and of joy so that everyone can get back to sleep.”

“Laughter and joy are certainly in short supply around here,” grunted Dwalin, but she seated herself beside the twins, and when they had finished brewing the tea, Bofur joined her. 

Lindir clasped his hands and leaned forward.“I shall not use a harp,” he declared, “for it _is_ the middle of the night, and all songs must be quiet beneath the dark leaves of Mirkwood.”

“We can be your accompaniment,” Kíli suggested eagerly.“Give us the melody to hum.”

“A very fine idea indeed,” Lindir said, and he hummed a little snatch of tune.“I have not heard much of your singing, and Master Baggins declared to me it was beyond compare!”

Bilbo, who thought he had said something along the lines of it being “quite good” gave Lindir a searching look, but he could discern no deceit behind the enthusiasm in those sparkling dark eyes.Fíli and Kíli began to hum the tune that Lindir had given them, and Dwalin and Bofur joined in, harmonizing in counterpoint.Lindir’s smile only widened, one finger conducting them lazily as he listened.After a few moments of this, he began to sing, soft but with a merry little lilt to it.

_Once there was a little elf_

_Who hid himself beneath a shelf_

_He pottered where he oughtn’t_

_And still he wasn’t caughtn’t_

_The little elf whose song we sing today!_

He went on like this for quite some time, singing about a little Elf who played tricks upon his brother and put spicy pepper in place of the currants in his currant teacakes.The song was just getting to the description of the brother’s retaliation—which sounded as if it involved a great deal of tickling—when Bilbo fell asleep.

When he woke up again, it was to the dim grey light of morning in Mirkwood, but he was warmer than he had been for quite some time.How peculiar.He yawned and did not move, though he noticed that there was a weight across his shoulders and chest and wondered at it drowsily. 

He stayed lying down for quite some time until the rumbling of his stomach drove him to roll over, and then he found that the source of the warmth and the weight was Lindir.Bilbo had always heard that Elves did not sleep, or if they did, they slept little and lightly and with their eyes open, but Lindir was as deeply asleep as any Hobbit Bilbo had ever seen.In repose, his face lacked a little of the light and cheer he brought to his countenance during the day.Like all the Elves Bilbo had met—apart from Elrond—his face was smooth and unlined, but there was a strange, ethereal quality about it, a kind of pale translucence, blurring the edges a little.

Bilbo frowned, not quite wanting to move more, for fear of disturbing him.A moment later, however, Lindir’s eyes went from closed to open.The lines of his face did not settle, and it struck Bilbo that perhaps he had simply never looked closely enough before to see that slight—loss of cohesion.The Elf’s brown eyes were sharp and clear, if a little confused.“Elros?” he murmured.“Did you…” Then he blinked and shook his head and carefully scooted away backwards.“Mr. Baggins.I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind,” Bilbo told him.“It was quite a warm and nice way to wake up, all things considered.”He laughed.“I must rise for I am famished, but if you want to do it again sometime, I would not be averse.”

Lindir nodded.“Why, thank you,” he said.“I am afraid that I woke in the middle of the night, and you are so small that you look like an Elven child at first glance.”He pulled an embarrassed face.“I sometimes miss my children.”

“Who is Elros?” Bilbo asked.“Is he related to Elrond?Is that how Elven naming works?”

“No, it—” Lindir paused for a moment, then laughed.“Sometimes it is,” he conceded.“And yes, Elros was Elrond’s twin.”There was something lying beneath his words that Bilbo could not quite understand.

“‘Was’?” he queried.

Lindir rolled to his feet.“Come along, we must get breakfast for our hungry companions,” he said briskly.“Thank you for allowing me such a liberty, Mr. Baggins.”

* * *

Bilbo wondered, when they found the boat, why Lindir’s face paled as it did, but it did not seem quite polite to ask, and they were rather distracted in any case by fetching it.All seemed well at first—Lindir crossed first, to watch for any dangers, and Bilbo and the Dwarves followed, two at a time, until Bombur was the only one left.

The look on Bombur’s face was three quarters concerned and one quarter rather murderous at having been left until last, but there was not much to be done about his prodigious weight.Bilbo found himself breathing a sigh of relief as the boat began its final journey, but he did so too soon. 

“Ware deer!” Lindir cried, as a great white stag burst from the forest and leapt upon the group.All devolved into confusion.The Dwarves yelled, and Bilbo—too little to help against such a creature—dived for the side of the path.There was a series of thudding, crunching noises, and then it was gone.Bilbo got up slowly, only to hear the Dwarves shouting with dismay.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, don’t _move_!”Somehow, impossibly, Lindir had reached the boat, which was rocking madly in the middle of the river.He had one hand in Bombur’s collar and was holding him just inches above the oily black water, muscles straining.Bombur’s eyes rolled wildly in terror.

As Bilbo scrambled to his feet, casting about for something he could do, Lindir twisted himself round in a blur of motion, leaning himself backwards and using his own body as a counterweight to _fling_ the frightened Dwarf the rest of the way to the bank.Bombur landed safely, gracelessly, in the mud, and the Dwarves ran to him with little relieved cries.It was only Bilbo who saw the look of sheer terror on Lindir’s face as the boat flipped, tipping him directly into the river.

“Lindir has fallen in!” he cried.“Stop!We must help him! _Lindir has fallen in_!”

They worked frantically with one of the oars and the rope.For a good five minutes, Bilbo was certain their cheerful companion was gone, swept down the river to save Bombur, who sat on the bank wailing and lamenting.When they finally pulled the Elf out, and Oin turned him over and forced the water out of his lungs, he did not waken but lay as one dead.His dark eyes were half-open and unfocused and the only lifelike thing about him was the shallow breaths he took.The Company looked at one another in some horror.

“Well, we cannot leave him,” Balin said, finally.“Fortunately he is small for an Elf, and slim.We must take turns carrying him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for readers familiar with The Hobbit and not The Silmarillion:  
> \- Elros was Elrond's twin brother, also a half-elf, who chose mortality like Arwen later on; he has been dead for a long, long time.  
> \- Lindir does not have many good associations with boats, ever since he helped his father burn a whole lot of them, thus cutting the Fëanorians off from their allies (it was Not A Good Decision).  
> \- As for why Lindir is very much opposed to entering Mirkwood, well, that's more relevant in the NEXT chapter...


	5. Forgotten Harper, Singer Doomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain mysteries about Lindir are revealed to the Company and things go wildly off the rails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe I am posting a bit early because I just LOVE THIS CHAPTER

“Where are the children?”

The Elf looked up.He had never seen his brother so tall, so remote, so beautiful, so _angry_.

“Celegorm and Curufin are dead,” he said, through numb lips, wondering if saying it would make it real.It did not seem to make sense.His brother did not seem to hear him.

“Where are the _children_?”

“What children?”He looked around at the huge, empty hallway.The glass in the windows was shattered and lay in pieces on the blood-stained floor.There were no children here.He had not seen any, except for the three in the throne room.But they had been sent away, had they not?Surely they had been sent away.He thought he could recall it, even, as the negotiations began to break down, Dior looking at several of his courtiers and telling them to remove the children.

Of course, Dior himself had been little more than a child.Now he was dead. _When did we become murderers of children?_

He looked about.His brother was gone.The hall was empty.The huge windows were filled with thin, translucent grey webs.Somewhere, far away, voices were singing.

“Elrond?” the Elf asked shakily.“Elros?”They wore matching blue nightgowns, lovingly stitched and stood hand in hand at the dark entrance.They smiled and waved, then turned and ran into the dark forest.It was not safe in the forest.It was cold; there were wolves.There were spiders.

The Elf sobbed and ran after his sons.He had no sword, but he had no real need of one.

* * *

The pommel of Bilbo’s sword was sweaty in his hand.He had never felt as he did now: frightened but buoyed up by his own determination.But he had killed a spider twice as large again as he was, and he was ready to kill more if he must to keep his companions safe.He made his way silently through the dark forest.Hearing a twig cracking, he slipped on his ring and crouched, ready to defend himself if it was another spider.

It was not.It was Lindir.He had apparently awakened and was leaning against a nearby tree.There was black ichor on his sword and spattered on his clothes.He looked very white and sick, and one hand was rubbing the other in a ceaseless, unending motion.Breathing out a sigh of relief, Bilbo slipped off his ring and made his way to Lindir’s side.

“Well, I see you are awake,” he said briskly.

Lindir turned to him.For one awful moment, his dark eyes were clouded, filled with some nameless, terrible emotion.They seemed to flame with gold and silver in a way Bilbo had never before seen in the eyes of any creature, mortal or immortal.Then Lindir blinked and took a shuddering breath and relaxed his hands.“Mr. Baggins,” he said softly.“I am glad to see you upright and moving.I am afraid our companions are not so fortunate.No—” he raised a hand as Bilbo felt his countenance change with panic, “—I do not think they are dead, but they are captive, and I do not know how long they will remain so.”

“Captive of the spiders?”

Lindir nodded.“Look.”He pointed to the clearing, and then our Mr. Baggins had quite the unpleasant crawling shock, for all of it was covered in spiders—very large spiders indeed—all of them chittering to one another in high, evil-sounding voices.Besides that, there were a number of suspiciously Dwarf-shaped bundles covered in webbing hanging from the trees.Bilbo could see some noses and the tips of hoods poking out.He tightened his grip on his sword.

“Is this why you did not want to enter Mirkwood?”

Lindir smiled, but it was a strange, hollow thing.“No.The spiders are very terrible, but I have killed many spiders in my long life, and I have never felt guilty for it.”

“Well, either way, I suppose we will have to rescue them,” Bilbo said briskly.He looked at Lindir, whose chest was rising and falling rapidly, who still looked dizzy and ill.“I’m light enough to get up on the branches and get them down,” he said.

“Are you worried about me, master burglar?” Lindir asked with amusement.“I have been much sicker than this in my life.”He shook his head.“But you are right that you don’t need me slowing you down.I’ll draw them away with a song so you can get the rest of the Company down.”

Something drew Bilbo to hold out his hand; it felt so much like a compact.Lindir looked down at it with another flash of something impossible-to-read in his eyes.“It will have to be the left, I think,” he said, a little wryly.“An old injury is troubling me.”He flexed his right hand several times.Bilbo, in some confusion, held out his left instead, and Lindir took it briefly.“Well, then, let us go rescue your companions!” he laughed.

Bilbo crept along outside the clearing, putting his ring on only once he was certain he was out of Lindir’s sight.Not that there was anything wrong with using it, of course, but somehow he still preferred to have it as a secret burrowing into his chest.He crouched and waited, listening.Not long after, Lindir’s voice rose, cheerful and taunting.

_There once was a jolly old spider_

_Who thought I belonged inside her._

_I cut my way out,_

_And she gave a shout!_

_It’s a shame that she wasn’t kinder!_

The spiders rose in answer, crying out indignantly with their high voices.They swarmed towards him, and Bilbo crouched there, shaking with excitement.He hoped Lindir would not have too much trouble with them.

It has been told in other stories how Bilbo freed the poor Dwarves, and it happened just the same here, so I shall not spend too many words on it.He may have had an easier time of it with Lindir there to draw off the main force of the spiders, and then again, he may not have, for those that were left were on their guard.In the end, though, he was able to get them out and away from those horrible spiders.They found that Thorin was missing, and Lindir had vanished into the woods and could not be found either.

And then came the Elves.

* * *

The throne room was huge.Poor little Bilbo was quite overawed by the beauty and dignity.The Wood Elf king lounged on a throne carved of dark wood and painted in the brilliant colors of autumn, while his retainers poured him water and wine in a delicate silver goblet.Around the room reclined more silver-haired Elves, reading or singing.They were all ethereally lovely, seeming far more aloof and remote than any one of the folk that he had met at Rivendell.

 _Bless me, how on earth am I to get the Dwarves out of here?_ Bilbo thought to himself, from which you will see that he was already considering it, and quite strongly.But he thought that these Elves would not be at all easy to trick, and he had a nasty feeling that it might take a great deal of time.Time, he knew, was something they were in rather short supply of.

He was just beginning to cudgel his brains and try to shake off the lethargy that seemed to have descended, for even if they were very beautiful Elves that did not change the fact that they had taken his companions captive, when the front door of the throne room burst open on its hinges with a blast of sound so loud it must have been physical in its intensity, and Lindir strode in.

All eyes turned towards him in stupefied fascination as he threw his hood back and proclaimed dramatically, “You have something which belongs to me!”

Bilbo had, at times, daydreamed about marching into the Sackville-Baggins household and demanding that Lobelia return his silver spoons.He had never done it, because it was not the sort of thing one _did_ , in the Shire, but he had enjoyed the thought of her bowing before the righteous anger of someone whose property she had taken.The faces of the Elves looking up looked that, except decidedly more so.The king, indeed, had gone a most peculiar green color.

And then Lindir went down on one knee and said, in a much quieter voice that nonetheless seemed to echo through the now-still hall, “I offer myself in return for the freedom of my companions.I will not fight you if you let them go free.”

There was a scattered and almost half-hearted gasp around the room.Then the Elf King stood up.He was still white to the lips.“ _You_ ,” he said, and his voice was not musical at all; it was full of a kind of raw horror.“How dare you show your face here?How dare you try to _bargain_ when your life is forfeit irrespective of your companions?”

Lindir tossed his hair, and a little smile rose to his lips.Bilbo thought that it was not a nice smile—not at all.“I did not say I would not fight at all, under any circumstances,” Lindir said coolly.“Do you still have nightmares, little Thranduil, of blood and fire?”

The king flinched.Bilbo thought that if he had not been in hiding, he would have chided Lindir for this.

“Very well,” King Thranduil said, his voice thin and cold.“Your companions?”

“Thirteen Dwarves and perhaps one other.”

“Your other we have seen nothing of.Your Dwarves we shall release, if you will give—” and here it was his turn to smile, old and cold and deadly, “—if you will give your _oath_ that you will remain here for my judgment, Maglor Fëanorion.”

Bilbo admitted to himself that some part of him had wondered if Lindir was not exactly the person he presented himself as.There had been hints and warnings and, indeed, a few outright statements that he was older even than most Elves of whom Bilbo had heard tell, but—but— _Maglor Fëanorion_?Bilbo could not count the number of fairy tales and histories he had read in which the Fëanorions featured, and Maglor of the Golden Tongue was as fearsome a bogeyman as any other who stalked those pages.

Now Lindir— _Maglor_?—raised his head, those dark eyes flashing with something akin to fury.“You fool, Thranduil,” he said, his voice low and musical and arresting.“Would you precipitate upon your court the very Doom you seek to revenge?Do not ask for my Oath, but be appeased with my promise, unless you wish to see Doriath sacked for a second time!”

“Do you threaten me?” Thranduil’s voice was thready, full of breath and fear that even Bilbo could hear.

“No,” said Lindir.“I but _warn_ you not to do this, as you would know if you had taken a moment to think it through.”He shuddered.“ _To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well—_ or have you never heard the Doom yourself, young one?”

Thranduil opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a minute, which Bilbo found amusing despite the circumstances.Then, with his face frozen, he struck Lindir across the face with the back of his hand.The sound of the blow was a heavy one, and Lindir flinched.Bilbo stared.It was, perhaps, not so surprising that their slim and airy traveling companion should react to the pain as anyone might, but Bilbo was still having trouble reconciling Lindir with the terrifying storybook villain he had read about.He hardly acted like one.

“Take him to the dungeons,” spat Thranduil.“Bind and gag him.”Then, as Lindir looked up, eyes flashing dangerously, “Let the Dwarves go.”It was probably intended to sound kingly, but there was a touch of hurry to it that damaged the impression.Lindir let his head dip again in submission.The guards took him, none too gently, pinning his arms behind him.One of them forced a piece of frilly cloth into his mouth—a napkin repurposed as a hasty gag.Lindir did not fight against them at all.

He looked so small.He was a touch shorter than the Wood Elves who held him, and slim and slightly built.How could he possibly be who they all claimed him to be?Bilbo could not seem to make his mind stay around the thought of Lindir as the fell, fey villain he recalled.But there was no denying the fear with which the Elves of Mirkwood regarded him.It was made clear in how tightly they held him, in how they would not take their eyes off him, in how those not tasked to imprison him seemed to draw back.

Bilbo shook his head.He wasn’t certain it mattered to him who or what Lindir was.What mattered was only that his task had changed.Instead of rescuing thirteen Dwarves, instead he had to rescue one apparently maddeningly stubborn Elf.

* * *

As it turned out, it was almost as difficult for Bilbo to get _out_ of the Elves’ fortress as it was for him to get _in_.This was unfortunate, since he was going to have to get in _again_ , in order to get Lindir—Maglor—oh, bother it— _Lindir_ out.But he could hardly let the Dwarves wander off without their companions, and certainly the burglar did not find it likely that the Elves would have told them.

He managed to slip out of the heavy gates just in time, for the Dwarves themselves were nearly tossed out upon the pathway like so many sacks of flour.Wiping his forehead, Bilbo got hurriedly into the bushes, took off his ring, and popped back out to find the Dwarves irritably picking themselves back up. 

“I hope you’re all proud of yourselves,” Bilbo said irritably.It was a little harsh, but you must remember that he had been having a very trying time over the past weeks and still had some terribly vivid memories of the way the first spider he had killed had twitched and danced madly as it expired.

Thorin got to his feet, methodically smoothing down his travel-stained tunic and his long beard.“Is everyone all right?” he asked, ignoring Bilbo’s remark entirely.Of course, he did not know that Bilbo had rescued all the others from the spiders (with Lindir’s help), so it is understandable that he was not more grateful, but it made Bilbo grind his teeth all the same.

The other Dwarves picked themselves up, slowly chorusing back in the affirmative.“I am terribly hungry, though,” Bombur complained sadly.

“So are we all,” Thorin said grimly.“At least we are back upon the path.”

“Well, that is not much use!” squeaked Bilbo.

Thorin shot him an angry look.“Why do you say that?”

“Lindir is still held captive.”Bilbo pointed back to the beautiful home of the Wood Elves, trying to ignore all the mixed feelings that boiled up inside him when he thought of all that had taken place within them.Such a little time, but so much seemed to have changed.

Thorin’s eyebrows drew down into a stubborn point.“That is his look-out,” he retorted, sounding almost peevish.“He’s an Elf.They won’t treat him badly.”

“They will,” Bilbo snapped back instantly, and he saw Balin’s eyes flicker between him and Thorin and the gate of the Wood-Elf King’s home.“I think they may—I think they may kill him, actually.”

“Nonsense,” Thorin said gruffly.“Elves don’t kill Elves.”

“Have you forgotten already what Gandalf said about him?” It was Balin who spoke now.“He has killed more Elves than we have ever met.It doesn’t seem so unlikely that some of the might object to his presence.”His eyes were very serious.“I don’t think his name is really Lindir—is it, Bilbo?”

Bilbo shuffled awkwardly.It seemed that Balin had some idea of Lindir’s identity, though Bilbo couldn’t be sure whether his idea was correct.He didn’t know what kinds of stories all the Dwarves might know, either.If his neighbors were here, he wouldn’t think they would even know the _name_ Maglor.But his mother—Bilbo thought of sitting in Belladonna’s lap as she opened the great storybook, with its soft, furred pages and colorful ink drawings.There was an illustration partway through, of a great battle inside a forest.When he was feeling particularly daring as a faunt, Bilbo would sometimes creep into his mother’s study and pull it open in his lap by himself.He spent most of his time staring at the terrifying one-handed giant who occupied the center of the page, holding in his hand the bodies of two small blue-clad hobbits.Underneath it was written _Maedhros One-handed_.He had squandered less attention on the thin, wraith-like form behind him, a skeletal creature clutching a harp, but he remembered the inscription _Maglor of the Golden Tongue._

Of course, later, Bilbo had found other stories of the Fëanorians, stories in which they were great kings, not monsters.He had never been able to ascertain the truth of it, though he loved the stories.Lindir must know the truth of it, mustn’t he?

“It’s not,” he whispered, at length, as Balin’s stare gradually became more and more uncomfortable to bear.He shook off the old, childish fear, and stood up straighter, reminding himself he was a warrior now.He had _fought_ with Maglor Fëanorion at his side, after all.“His name is Maglor Fëanorion, and I really do think they will kill him.”

Thorin’s eyes widened slightly.Balin did not react except to nod.He must have known, then.Perhaps he known for some time—Bilbo supposed he was a loremaster and knew more stories than even Bilbo himself did.Not so many as Lindir must, though!It suddenly thrilled through Bilbo that if Lindir died here, all his knowledge, all his stories would die with him.Bilbo thought he would go mad if that happened.

“Maglor Fëanorion,” Thorin repeated.“I thought he was a legend.”

“He is,” Balin replied, with a soft chuckle.“Many legends do have an origin in something real, though, and I suppose he has simply never—died.There are no tales that speak of his death, after all.He slips out of the tales around the time they tell of the War of Wrath.There is a long fragment of a song about the death of the eldest brother, written in some form of very strange, lisping Quenya, but there is no tale that tells of the death of Maglor.”

Thorin shook his head, standing on the path.“It would be terribly dangerous for us to go back,” he grunted.“The Wood Elf King was not a kind host the first time.And surely if Lindir is such a mythical warrior, he can free himself.”

The other Dwarves murmur amongst themselves.They seemed hesitant—Fíli and Kíli in particular, but Thorin’s words were not unreasonable.Or would not have been, if Bilbo hadn’t known— “He might be _able_ to, but he _won’t_ ,” he said.“He gave himself up so that the Wood Elf King would free all of you.That’s why they threw you out.”

A muscle twitched in Thorin’s jaw.“There was no need,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, yes, because it was going to be so easy for me to trick the Elves into letting out thirteen Dwarves,” Bilbo snipped before he realized he was going to.To his relief, Thorin only scowled at him.

“We must rescue him, mustn’t we?” Fíli put in, rather timidly.

“Certainly, lad,” Dwalin agreed, nodding her head firmly.

Thorin growled again.Balin laid a hand upon his arm.“You would not have it said that Thorin Oakenshield abandoned a companion?” he asked gently.“Even one he did not choose himself.”

Thorin sighed heavily, letting his chin drop slightly.“Fine.As long as the burglar thinks of a way for us to get back in.”

“It would be my honor,” Bilbo retorted, raising his own chin in answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note for those familiar with the Hobbit and not the Silm (and I'm sorry if I repeat info I am DEAD TIRED):
> 
> Celegorm and Curufin were Maglor's brothers, who died when the Fëanorians attacked Doriath, where Thranduil used to live (before that entire continent sank, but suffice to say a lot of the Mirkwood Elves were there). Elrond and Elros were not at Doriath but at Sirion (the next place the Fëanorians attacked for the Silmarils), where they were adopted by Maglor and Maedhros.
> 
> Maglor's violent reaction to Oaths brought to you by that the REASON the Fëanorians killed so many people was swearing the Oath of Fëanor and bringing upon themselves the Doom of the Noldor, which, among other things "to evil ends shall all things turn that they begin well." Not a good time for anyone.


	6. A Dark Child and a Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which poor Bilbo is forced to deal with a great deal too much melodrama for his taste as he tries to figure out how to get Lindir out of the current sticky situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this early because i FINISHED THE FIC THIS MORNING :DDDD so i am treating myself and y'all
> 
> edit: relationship tags now up to date. they were not previously because the various characters CONTINUALLY SURPRISED ME with the ships i was getting whoops XD

It took several days for Bilbo to locate Lindir.He had not been placed in the same dungeons that the Dwarves had occupied, nor yet the deeper cell where Thorin had been locked away by himself.Besides that, he was always very hurried and nervous.He did not like having the ring on for too long, as it made him feel as if someone were peering over his shoulder, but having it off meant he was at risk of discovery, which was not exactly very pleasant either.

Fortunately, however, the Wood Elves were not too shy of gossiping about the “kinslayer” who had been captured, and while Bilbo found himself a little incredulous of how quickly wild stories seemed to sprout up among the Elves who had not been in the room for Lindir’s dramatic entrance, at least listening to enough of them whisper about it eventually led him to the correct room.It was near the end of the dungeon, down one long steep flight of stone stairs, a tiny little oubliette lit through the cracks of the door by a single torch.There was no window to the outside.

Bilbo peeked in and found himself more than a little shocked.The Dwarves had complained about their accommodations—and, well, why would they not?They had been thrown into damp cells and not fed very well, but they had not been shackled or injured.Poor Thorin’s beard had caught mold, true, but Oin had been able to sort that out quickly with a clever application of some herbs. 

The Elves had not treated Lindir nearly so kindly.

His hands were shackled to the wall above his head, and the shackles looked as if they had been set for a larger creature than he was, for he was forced to kneel upright or, Bilbo supposed, he would have been taking all his weight with his arms.His long black hair was wet with damp, curling across his shoulders, and his mouth had been forced open and something round and black pushed into it and locked onto his face with a set of lighter chains.He glanced up wearily when he heard the soft little sound of sympathy that Bilbo made.His eyes widened slightly, and Bilbo saw several emotions chase themselves across their bard’s face.

“You are all right?” he called softly.By his calculations, he had a few minutes before the guards returned.

Lindir nodded jerkily.

“You have no injuries?You are not sick?”

A shake of the head.

“Good.”Bilbo was not sure what else to say. _Please wait patiently_ seemed rather rude, when Lindir could do nothing else.Finally, rather helplessly, he went with the somewhat pompous, “I shall return,” and slipped away.

A little more poking and sneaking led him to the most unfortunate conclusion that King Thranduil kept the key of the chamber on him at all times.Reading between the lines, Bilbo at least strongly suspected that the guards of the prison did carry the key of the _shackles_ on them, so that if the Company could reach Lindir, it would be a relatively simple matter to free him, but how were they to do so?

He fretted about this for a long time, wracking his poor brains, but he could come up with nothing other than to steal the key from Thranduil himself.This he set out to do immediately he had come to the unfortunate conclusion.Perhaps he ought to have gone back to speak with the rest of the Company before making such a quick decision.Perhaps he ought not to have risked his neck in the first place, but we must make allowances for poor decisions made out of compassion.

I will not detail here all the difficulties that he ran afoul of trying to make his way to the innermost royal chambers.Even for a clever hobbit with a magical ring it was no easy task, and if luck had not been on his side, I think he might have found himself captured and brought before the king himself.But eventually, after hiding in a dumbwaiter, dodging through the legs of three particularly sharp-eared guards—one of whom nearly ended his burglary career with a most unfortunately rapid spear motion—and then waiting miserably in a dank hallway for several hours, he was able to gain his object and enter the chambers, slipping in after Thranduil himself and just narrowly missing having the door slammed on his poor little heels.

To his dismay, the Elf king began to disrobe, and Bilbo frantically squinted, trying to observe propriety while also keeping an eye on the large key around Thranduil’s neck.Thranduil removed layer after layer of elaborate robes, but he did _not_ remove the key, which remained firmly around his neck.Bilbo tutted to himself in frustration as the king arrayed himself in a flowing, delicately-embroidered nightgown, undid his long hair, and seated himself on the side of the bed, still with the key looped upon a thong about his neck.

He waited at the side of the room as the shadows lengthened and Thranduil poured himself a goblet of some ruby liquid, sipping it slowly as he stared off into the distance.Bilbo resigned himself to a long wait.After perhaps an hour, the king lay back onto his pillow, leaving the rest of the goblet where it was.Shortly thereafter, Bilbo heard a soft little snore.“ _Finally_ ,” he muttered to himself.

As he began to tiptoe across the room, one of the floorboards creaked loudly underneath him, and he froze.Thranduil turned over on his side and, to Bilbo’s utter dismay, spoke.“Is that you, Glírdil?” he asked.

He hadn’t looked.He must not.Bilbo made a quick, humming affirmative noise before he could stop himself.Thranduil grunted.“I wish you’d stop coming into my rooms in the middle of the night, I’ve told you I’d rather take the damn dishes down myself.”

“Sorry,” Bilbo managed, affecting a lower voice than his usual and trying for a sort of rasp in the hopes he would sound as if he had a cold.

He received a heavy sigh.“Well, better to have someone to talk to than no one, I suppose.Is your throat all right?”

“Been better,” Bilbo tried, almost dancing with his nerves.

The Wood Elf King groaned, reaching out and flapping his arm about to find his pillow before bringing it to his chest.The burglar watched in some fascination as he moved about vaguely.From his vantage point, he could see that Thranduil’s cheeks were red and his eyes were glazed.Whatever he had been drinking must have been potent, which perhaps explained his lack of immediately recognizing Bilbo’s poor imitation of whoever he was imitating for what it was.

Thranduil grabbed the pillow and pulled it over his face, for all the world like some of Bilbo’s younger cousins when they sulked.“I must have looked so _pathetic_ ,” he sneered.“Cringing and doing his bidding.”

“Eh?” Bilbo said intelligently.

“Weren’t you there?” Thranduil slurred.“Can’t keep track.The Fëanorion.For _years_ I’ve imagined having one of them in my power, getting—getting revenge.”He went quiet, and then Bilbo’s heart smote him as he heard Thranduil start to sob quietly.“They took _everything_ from us—I know you weren’t born yet.But I still dream of it sometimes.I still dream of Eluréd and Elurín screaming as they were taken away.They knew they were being taken to die.”He paused for a moment.“We used to play together, you know,” he continued.“Seeing your childhood nightmare brought to life—it’s—I can’t describe it.”He laughed.“In my memories, he towered over all of us, his eyes flaming, the song pouring from his lips.And then when he entered—he was so _short_.But it didn’t even matter.”

Bilbo did not think he ought to be listening to this.He was feeling particularly guilty that he was doing so as part of fulfilling his objective of getting Lindir out of the custody he had been placed in.He still did not feel that his companion had been well-treated, but it was rather appalling to think of what had brought the other Elves to treat him so.He made a note to speak sternly with him, once they had successfully freed him.

“I am so sorry,” he said now, simply, without thinking to disguise his voice.

“You are not Glírdir, are you?” Thranduil said, in a soft, questioning tone.“Am I dreaming, after all?”

“Perhaps,” Bilbo allowed.It was not quite true, but he supposed it was not quite a lie, either.“You ought not to drink such things right before bed, you know,” he said, sniffing at the potent alcohol smell wafting from the glass beside the bed.“It will make you sleep, but it will give you nightmares, and I do not think that will help you overmuch.”

“You sound like my son,” chuckled Thranduil.“I will drink what I like, when I like,” he mumbled stubbornly.“I am the king, after all.”

“You ought to listen to your son, he sounds quite sensible.”Bilbo sat down on the bed beside him, not quite sure what he was doing.He ought to be trying to get the key, still, but he did not quite like to.It didn’t seem honorable, somehow, not when Thranduil was pouring out his heart to someone he believed was a dream.Were burglars supposed to be honorable?Bilbo was not sure, but he thought that Gandalf might agree with him about his actions here.

“I will do what I like,” sulked Thranduil, turning over again so that he was now staring up at the ceiling.

Awkwardly, Bilbo brushed his hair back from his forehead, as he might have done, again, for one of his younger cousins.He took the blanket and tucked it up about Thranduil’s neck.“You may do as you like, because you are the king,” he said softly.“But I am sure your people would prefer you to keep your own health in mind when you are doing as you like.Don’t you think they would like it if you had fewer nightmares?”

“I have nightmares because of the kinslayer!” Thranduil protested.His pale lashes were fluttering now over his eyes.

“Yes, well, you also have them because of the drink,” Bilbo retorted.

Thranduil snorted at him.“I’ll consider it,” he mumbled gruffly, his eyes slipping shut.Bilbo sighed and ruffled his hair.

“What a silly king you are,” he said, half to himself.

 _And what a fool you are, Bilbo!_ he told himself sternly as he tiptoed right back out of the king’s chamber.Now he would have to go back to Thorin emptyhanded and hope that if he wracked his brain for another three days he could come up with a new way to rescue poor Lindir.

Thorin was, indeed, not terribly pleased, but he was less displeased than Bilbo thought he would be.“Well, if your code of honor will not let you, then that is all there is to it,” he growled.“Tell me more about the location of the cell.You said it was close to one end of the dungeon?How close?”

Bit by bit, Bilbo traced through his mental map of the castle, employing copious aid from a stick he used to trace estimations and scratchy diagrams into the mud.The Dwarves bent over it, frowning and murmuring amongst themselves.“What’s this?” Thorin asked Bilbo, pointing to a scribbled box.

“That is the wine cellar.I believe I have placed it correctly, but I am not so skilled at architecture as a Dwarf.”

“It looks as if it should be just above and a little offset from the cell where Lindir is being kept.”

Bilbo thought about this.“I believe you’re right,” he said slowly.“It would be a relatively easy matter for me to check, thinking about it this way.”

“And can you acquire the keys to the cellar door?”

“That should be a great deal simpler.Thranduil does not carry those about on his person.”

Again, the Dwarves conferred quickly, this time speaking rapidly in their own language.“All right.We’ll have to be quick about this, but I think we can do it, if Master Baggins can coordinate well enough.”He turned to Bilbo.“You will need to steal the keys to the wine cellar and make certain we have at least three hours of uninterrupted time within.Then you must ensure we have a way to escape once we have reached the Elf.”

Bilbo nodded slowly.“What are you planning to do?” he asked.

Thorin’s craggy face split with a proud smile.“What we are best at.We will dig him out.”

* * *

Bilbo did not approve of the plan.He did not approve of the plan at all.Dwarves, he considered, were not stealthy enough at the best of times, and while digging a hole through the wine cellar, they were frankly ear-shattering, to his sensibilities.He did not like spending hours dancing nervously lest the Elves in the next room overhear what was going on.Drunk they might be, but they were still _Elves_.

More concerning still, the Dwarves had already exceeded Bilbo’s very strict timeline, no matter how he urged them—“Burglar, we cannot go faster or the castle will come down upon our ears and our journey will end here”—which meant that the festivities had started in the upper hall, and there was no rapid escape back the way they had come.This forced Bilbo to go to his secondary plan, and he did not like his secondary plan, because it involved boats.Or, rather worse, it involved objects not intended to be used as boats being used as boats.He had not yet told the Dwarves, as he did not feel like listening to their lamentations before he had to, but he knew it to be only a matter of time before it became necessary.

Fíli’s head popped round the corner.“Have you the key, Master Baggins?” he asked urgently.“We have broken through, but it will be a tight squeeze, I think, for you and Lindir, and quite impossible for us.”

“If it is a tight squeeze for me, I cannot imagine it being possible for Lindir,” Bilbo retorted.The Elf might be far more slender than a Dwarf, but he was far too tall to make it through spaces designed for a Hobbit.

“Well, if needs must we can clear out the edges a little, but we did not think you wanted to tarry,” Fíli said softly.

Bilbo opened his mouth to give a sharp retort, then closed it again and said, primly, “Thank you,” and let the young Dwarf lead him downward into the ragged tunnel through the rock.

When he undid the manacles about Lindir’s arms, the Elf shuddered, letting himself slide down into a resting position.“Give me a moment, please,” he said, as Bilbo undid the gag as well and pulled it off.“Just a moment.My arms are so painful I am not sure I could move them yet.”

“We don’t have much time,” Bilbo warned him, and Lindir nodded.

“A moment, only,” he agreed, grimacing as he slowly rotated his arms.“I am very grateful.”

“You may be less grateful when you hear our next step,” Bilbo told him grimly.“But I have wracked my brains and it is the only possible alternative.”

Kíli had overheard them.“What is the only possible alternative?” he asked.

“Barrels,” said Master Baggins.

* * *

“What is it, Elrond?” The look on the lord of Rivendell’s face did not bode well, though Erestor could not be certain for whom it boded.

Elrond stood, still holding the letter, and walked across the room and back, as if trying to gathering his thoughts or perhaps rediscover a lost ability to speak.“It is a letter from the Elves of Mirkwood,” he said at length.“Lord Thranduil sends his regards to Lord Elrond of Rivendell and invites him to Mirkwood.”

“An invitation?Whatever for?”Things were not so close between Elrond and Thranduil that Erestor would have expected that the latter would invite him to any festivities, and the pinched look about Elrond’s mouth and the slight furrow in his brow belied such an interpretation in any case.

“He says that he has after these many Ages at last captured the final remaining Kinslayer, Maglor.He invites me to attend the execution,” Elrond said finally.

“Valar,” breathed Erestor.“What has your mad father done _now_?”

“I do not know,” groaned Elrond.“The last thing I told him was at the very least to _avoid the Elves of Mirkwood at all costs_.And of course he promised he would try.And of course-- _Eru_ —Atya—what have you _done_?”


	7. Down the Swift Dark Stream You Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maglor and Bilbo have fun with barrels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for a short chapter, I'll try to post the next one a bit sooner, but I ran into the problem that I don't actually WRITE in chapters and therefore when I go to find good spots to divide the narrative, it can get a bit inconsistent

Maglor was soaking and about as miserable as he had been outside of actual disasters for the past several centuries.He had not thought to discover a method of conveyance he liked less than boats, but as it turned out, barrels were it.He was folded up almost in half, his knees trapped against his chest, and he was actually seasick (or would it be riversick?) He had never been seasick in his life.

Bilbo was clinging to the outside of the barrel, which had the advantage of not being as cramped, Maglor supposed, but the disadvantage of being a much more precarious position.Already he had needed to help pull the poor little hobbit’s head back above water several times when the barrel had tipped.Still, he was clinging on gamely enough.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” Maglor told him as they bobbed down a somewhat less rapidly moving stretch of river.

“You’re welcome.”Bilbo scowled at him.Maglor was not quite certain why.“Maglor of the Golden Tongue.”Oh.So Bilbo must have heard Thranduil’s folk discussing him.That would be why. 

“I have not heard that epithet before,” he said, trying for a smile.He suspected that it fell rather flat.Bilbo’s scowl did not abate.

“How much of it is true?” he asked.“Certainly I would not have left any of my companions to be killed, but I think I am owed that much knowledge.”

“How much of what?”

“The stories.”

“Ah.Well—it depends on what you have heard,” Maglor said carefully, groaning as he tried to find a more comfortable position and pain shot through his back.“ _Eru_ , this is _unpleasant_.”

“As unpleasant as being put to death for killing your entire family?” Bilbo asked carefully. 

“I did not kill my entire family,” Maglor replied mildly.“In fact, one might argue they are the only ones I did _not_ harm.But perhaps that is not what the tales say?”

“Well…there is more than one tale, and they do not all agree with one another,” Bilbo admitted. 

“I cannot very well address all these tales when I do not even know what most of them say.”Maglor whined in pain as the barrel rocked precariously from side to side.“The short version is I killed a great many Elves who did not deserve it, including many of Elrond’s kin.His mother who bore him only escaped by the grace of the Valar.”It still stung, the sight of Elwing vanishing from the high window, carrying with her the last hope of absolution that Maglor could see.He knew, now—he thought he had even known then—that it was an illusion.And yet it still stung.

“Then how can you say you did not kill your entire family?” Bilbo demanded.

“Because I did not bear Elrond nor sire him.He is my family and I am his but it—did not begin so.”

“How…” Bilbo shook his head.“Never mind.It sounds quite dreadful.”He shook his head.“It must have been very long ago, I suppose?”

“Very, very long ago, indeed,” Maglor agreed.“But Elves have long memories, as you saw with Thranduil—the wood-elf king.Well, I will not deny that he has reason to despise me.It is—not something that I can atone for, not really.My death would mean little when weighed against so much carnage.”

“I cannot even begin to imagine it,” Bilbo said frankly.

“No,” Maglor agreed, softly.“And I hope you never can, my dear Mr. Baggins.You are kind—perhaps too kind for your own good.Middle Earth needs such kindness badly.”

“If you cannot atone for it, what do you _do_?” Bilbo asked.The barrel chose this moment to flip right over and pin the poor hobbit underneath it, and Maglor’s next few moments were wholly occupied with trying to get him back out.Once he had finally managed that, he banged their burglar on the back until he choked out riverwater, sneezed three times, and said, rather mournfully, “Perhaps you could atone for it by putting your arm underneath my back so that doesn’t happen again.”

“Oh dear,” said Maglor.“Yes, let’s try that.”He shuffled around in the barrel, groaning in pain again, but he managed to get his right arm out from where it had been trapped at his side and slipped it around Bilbo’s back and beneath his waist.“Better?”

“I certainly hope so!”

The new configuration did seem to help a little.Although it was no more pleasant for Maglor’s arm than before, he felt that it was worth it to keep the poor burglar from drowning or swallowing any more river water.

“I don’t have an answer to your question,” he said, some minutes later, as they drifted beneath a rough-hewn wooden bridge.“It’s something I have often asked myself over the course of my life, and I have had a very long life.Just keep going, I suppose, and try to be better.Not a very satisfactory answer, I must admit.”

“Well, if you have not come to a conclusion, I cannot imagine myself being better equipped,” Bilbo squeaked.

“Do not underrate yourself,” Maglor told him seriously.“Many of the greatest insights of my life have come from mortals.You see the world differently from my people, and more of them would do well to seek such sights, I deem.”

He got an intrigued head-tilt.“Most of my insights are about the necessity of three square meals a day or more, and I am afraid the Company does not seem inclined to listen to them,” Bilbo said, with a slightly mischievous smile.

“Perhaps they should,” Maglor sighed.Then he cocked his own head to one side.“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

The sound of the river was getting louder, almost thunderous.“Oh dear,” Maglor found himself saying out loud.“Hold on tightly, master burglar.”

“Wait, what do you mean, hold on ti—”

The river narrowed almost immediately after turning a sharp bend in the rock, and all of a sudden the comparatively calm waters became white spume, and the little barrel shot along as if it were an arrow fired out of a bow.Bilbo squeaked, and Maglor had to force himself not to shut his eyes, so dizzying were the rapid, unpleasant motions.Up ahead, the white water vanished against the horizon.

He hoped Bilbo hadn’t seen.He hoped it would not be a long drop.

Damn barrels.

* * *

Maglor lay against the shore with his face pressed against the mud and breathed hard.Nearby, Bilbo was making unhappy retching noises.Shards of barrel littered the white shore, but at least it had not burst before they’d reached it.Maglor’s back hurt, more than he could remember it hurting for a long time.He was getting soft in his old age, spending too much time laughing and singing in Imladris, apparently.

Just being on dry—well, comparatively dry—land was a relief, and he wanted to just lie there and drowse, but he knew he couldn’t.Someone had to go around and count Dwarf hoods, and it very clearly wasn’t going to be poor Bilbo.Maglor groaned and levered himself up, back still twinging, and looked around.

Barrels littered the shore.Here and there, unhappy Dwarves were pushing their way out.Fíli and Kíli were already staggering to their feet, but no one else was.A few of the other Dwarves had feebly started clawing their way out of barrels, but Maglor, doing a rapid head count, found that they were still missing four, who must still be sealed in.At least, he hoped they were sealed in and not still merrily floating down the river to who-knew-where.

“Kíli, Fíli,” he rasped, his voice coming out too harsh, and _ai_ , what would he do if his voice were gone, here, now? But there was no time to worry about it.“Help me check the barrels.”

“Yes, Lindir.”

None of them were very swift, but fortune was with them, and the four remaining Dwarves were discovered still packed into their barrels.Bombur was quite unconscious; Dori, Nori, and Ori were not, but had to be helped out, for they could move only very feebly.

“A wonderful idea of yours, Master Baggins,” Thorin said caustically.He had not been so badly off as Dori, Nori, or Ori, but he looked exhausted, the skin around his eyes greying and his beard hanging limp.

“If you had been faster at digging Lindir out, I would have had a better recourse,” Bilbo snapped back.

“Ultimately, it is my fault,” Maglor put in, before the two of them could start having a proper argument.“I had half-thought you would abandon me in Thranduil’s dungeons.I am exceeding grateful that you did not, but I am sorry that you paid such a price in so doing.”

Thorin’s eyes snapped to his face, flashing and angry.“We would not abandon a companion,” he muttered, though he still sounded sullen and reluctant.

The conversation flagged as the other Dwarves began to revive a little.“Well, where to now?” Maglor asked of Thorin, in the hopes that he would be able to smooth over the situation by deferring to the Dwarf’s authority. “We are nearly at Laketown,” Thorin said, nodding down the river.“I am afraid it will mean another walk, but I am of the opinion that a dry bed and a good meal will be better than spending another night in the wilderness.”He looked around at the others.Even Bombur was beginning to revive a little, as Fíli and Kíli wetted his lips with some alcohol that Maglor suspected they had subtly procured from Thranduil’s hall.He nodded weakly.

“I think I shall need someone to lean on, though,” the fat Dwarf said.

“Believe me,” Maglor told him cheerfully.“I have helped someone far heavier than you when we were both exhausted.”

A pair of bushy eyebrows rose.“I didn’t think Elves got fat.”

Maglor felt his lips twist slightly to the side.“I did not say that he was fat.Come along.”

They did not walk so much as hobbling, but their pace was not too slow, and it did not take too long for them to reach the great Bridge of Laketown.There was a bit of an unpleasant moment with the guards when Maglor thought about reaching for his harp, but Thorin was sufficiently regal to convince them to allow him and his folk to enter unmolested, and perhaps the sight of Maglor himself helped.He was quite sure these Men would not know the difference between a Noldo and one of the Wood Elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for readers familiar with the Hobbit and not the Silm: Elwing was Elrond's mother, who Maglor and his brothers attacked to try and get the Silmaril that she still had (it's a long story, but basically they attacked her home when she was a child and she escaped -- she's the sister of the twins that Thranduil thinks about, and then they came after her again later, when she had twins of her own.). She jumped out a window with the Silmaril and one of the gods turned her into an albatross.
> 
> Also, Maglor's last reference to "carrying someone far heavier" is to his literally eight foot tall eldest brother. (Maglor, at least in my writing, is...a little over six foot, which is very small indeed for his type of Elf. Tolkien Elves are bloody enormous.)


	8. His Arrows Shorn of Ebony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maglor meets a Bard who is not a bard and is welcomed into his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a longer chapter to make up for the rather short one last week!
> 
> Chapter warning: Please be aware there's a bit of unintentional misgendering (and some intentional, in the "not sure if you're out yet" sense) coming up for a few different characters, along with discussions of a couple trans characters. Not much transphobia (maybe a little bit of an implication of societal homophobia and transphobia), but some ignorance that clears up well for everyone concerned once it's addressed.

In the end, they had arrived sometime in the afternoon.Maglor was not sure when they had left Thranduil’s palace—sometime late at night or in the early morning, perhaps—and they must have been on the river for some time.Maglor was not sure he could make it all make sense in his head, for he had lost track of the time all too easily in Thranduil’s dungeon, but it did not much matter.What mattered was that they were all exhausted and bedraggled, but fortunately the Master of Laketown was much impressed by Thorin’s claims of the return of the King Under the Mountain and invited him and his Company to dine with the folk of Laketown in an impromptu meal at the Town Hall.

It was a large building, a little rough around the edges but sturdy.Maglor was not much concerned with aesthetics right now, in any case—he cared that there was a roaring fire built in the great fireplace and that there was food laid out upon the tables.He paid little attention to anything else.

He had thought his body would have forgotten its response to years of deprivation after living in Imladris for an Age, but it appeared that it had not.It was difficult not to start tearing into the food like a ravenous animal, and their sojourn in Mirkwood had only been weeks—perhaps a month.But his body remembered.

Once he was able to concentrate on anything other than being reasonably polite about feeding himself, he realized that he had been seated next to Thorin.Thus far, he had kept his distance from the leader of the Dwarves, reasoning that it would perhaps make Thorin a little more easily accustomed to his presence and hoping, if he could not win the Dwarf’s regard, at least to win his sufferance.

“Well, Master Elf, I suppose we are about even again,” Thorin said.Maglor could not read his expression, nor the tone of his voice.

“Indeed, we have both saved one another’s lives at this juncture,” Maglor returned, for there was no reason to pretend that it had been the Dwarves’ lives he was saving when he rescued them from Thranduil.Some part of him still wondered a little what he thought he had been doing.It was the easiest way to retrieve them, of course, but perilous for himself, and he had broken a promise to Elrond to do it.

Perhaps despite his words to Bilbo that he could never atone for the Sack of Doriath, something inside himself had hoped to try anyway.He had seen Thranduil as a child when he and his brothers rode in.He had been playing in the stream with Elurín and Eluréd.Those pale grey eyes had tracked him and marked his movement, and he had taken Elurín’s hand and held it tightly.

Maglor wondered what he had seen, later.What he had been told.

“Why is it that we had to save your life?” Thorin asked, as if he had read Maglor’s thoughts.“Are the Elves of Mirkwood so xenophobic, that they would kill even their own people?”

Shaking his head, Maglor looked away.“I am not of their people,” he replied.“And indeed, I have killed—” no, that was insufficient, “—slaughtered many of them.”

“So what Gandalf said about you is true.”

“In every particular,” Maglor said shortly.

“Why?” Thorin asked after a moment.

“To reclaim my birthright,” Maglor said, then laughed, a little bitterly.“Or so I thought at the time.”

“A noble enough cause,” Thorin said neutrally.

Maglor shook his head and took a swallow of his wine.It was not strong enough.Men’s ale never was.

“You do not think so?” Thorin asked, and Maglor realized he was fiddling with his beard a little.“Aye, there are some things for which the cause does not suffice,” he continued, answering his own question.Maglor saw him glance across at the other Dwarves, at Bilbo, his gaze softening a little.

“Sometimes—it’s simply a question of what you value more, I suppose,” Maglor said.“But if I were you, if such a question arises, I would have a care, Thorin Oakenshield, for you would not want to part with something you find too late is too valuable to regain.”

“That is the most serious thing I have heard you say, I think,” Thorin said quietly.“And perhaps the wisest.”

“Well, I cannot be silly all the time,” Maglor told him, with a smile.“But that is enough serious talk for the time being.See what a celebration you have brought to this place, Thorin!”

It had indeed become a celebration.The whole scene reminded Maglor fiercely of a time long past, of a century of quiet healing he had passed in a little fishing village somewhere in the shadow of Numenor.It had been a Mannish village, and there had been dances there like the dance that was now starting up in Laketown.He smiled to himself, feeling his heart swell with tenderness, at the sight of four children taking to the floor in the center of the hall and starting up a dance.One of the townsfolk caught up a fiddle and began to play a high, merry tune, and within a few minutes, they were whirling each other about on the dance floor.Pairs of adults began to follow in a slow but steady trickle.

While the rest of the Men of Laketown chattered and laughed, mingling with the Company and conversing with Mr. Baggins and Maglor himself, there was one who held himself back, a tall fellow with long black hair drawn back and a beard that was trimmed in typical Mannish fashion, but with a slightly uneven hand.There was something about him, though, that drew Maglor to approach, something in the set of his shoulders that recalled a once-dear form hunched over his mead and sighing at his little brothers’ antics.

Impulsive as he often allowed himself to be in this quieter Age, Maglor made his way across the hall and slipped onto the bench beside the Man.“Do you disapprove of the festivities?” he asked gaily, in the same tone of voice he might have used to coax Maedhros from his duties long ago.

The Man started a little.“Not particularly,” he said, after a moment.“I prefer a little more caution when welcoming strangers on my doorstep, but you and your companions seem pleasant enough.”

“Then would you care to dance?” Maglor asked him, with a wink and a laugh.

“Oh—ah—ehm,” stammered the Man.“There are many here who are already dancing—why would you ask me?”

“For precisely that reason, of course; if they are already dancing, they do not need a partner.”

The Man squinted at him a little.“I don’t dance often anymore,” he said, sounding almost apologetic.“Since I lost my wife, the others rarely offer.”

“I could sit here and sorrow with you instead of dancing,” Maglor babbled.“I am quite good at sorrowing.My son says I do it far too often, so I have been trying to cut back, but I am sure he would understand if it was for the sake of good company.”The Man’s eyes were watching him with something approaching bafflement now, and it made him think of the muddled affectionate look Nen used to give him when they caught him playing with the cats in one of his most fey moods.“Still,” Maglor continued.“I believe my spouse would encourage the dancing over the sorrowing.”

“Your spouse?”

“Their name was Nen.They died many years ago.”

The Man laughed, sounding a little surprised.“I suppose my wife would think the same,” he said, after a moment.“She died two winters ago now.Perhaps it’s time to celebrate again.Very well, I’ll dance with you.”He rose and took Maglor’s proffered hand.

Maglor’s sharp ears caught the collective murmur that went around the townsfolk as he led his new friend out onto the dance floor, but he ignored it.He simply took his place across from the Man and bowed.“I am called Lindir,” he said.“And how may I know you?”

The Man put a hand awkwardly on the back of his neck.“Bard.Bard the Bowman.”

Maglor could not help letting out a little whoop of laughter.“So your name is Bard, but you are not a bard?And you are dancing with a bard this very moment.”

Bard chucked a little shamefacedly.“It is an odd name, I suppose.”

“No more than mine,” Maglor told him, stepping into Bard’s arms and instinctively taking the follower role, since the Man seemed to expect to be dancing as the leader.“Translated, Lindir also means something very like _bard_.” _Makalaurë, though…_

As the fiddler started up the next song, a rapid reel, they whirled off around the dance floor.Maglor didn’t know the exact style of the dance, but it was close enough to ones he’d done before and Bard was a good enough leader that he picked it up rapidly.His cheeks were warming quickly with the exertion, and it drove the memory of cold water from his mind.

“You’re an excellent dancer,” he told his partner, as they twirled in circles near the fiddler.

“I’m glad you think so.” Bard ducked his head a little, as if embarrassed.“I admit, I have never danced with an Elf before.”

“I hope then that I am not a disappointment.”

A sparkle lit in those black eyes, one that sent a half-forgotten thrill down Maglor’s spine.So he had not been wrong, then: this Man was not devoid of light or laughter, serious as he might appear.

“Indeed not, fair Elf, though there is one thing that puzzles me.I have a question, if you will permit it?”

The music changed, the pace slowing.Neither Maglor’s steps nor his partner’s rhythm faltered; they only changed, their movements becoming more deliberate, less frenetic as they approached one wide window out of which the harbor shore could be clearly seen.

“I will permit most questions, though I will not guarantee the accuracy of my answers,” Maglor told Bard.He glanced out of the window in time to see that there were boats upon the river, and a chill ran down his spine as he realized that he recognized that fluted handiwork.It was too soon for word of his escape to have traveled, he was nearly certain, but that did not mean that there could be no Elves arrived to trade in Laketown. _Ai, if they find me here, it will not just be my neck that’s forfeit this time._ “However, before you ask me any questions,” he continued hurriedly.“I am afraid I must beg you for some help.”

“Some help?” Bard had obviously realized something was wrong, but just as obviously was confused about why.“If it’s within my power—”

“They cannot find me here,” Maglor said in a low voice, nodding out the window towards the boats drawing smoothly into harbor.“It would be the gravest of disasters.”

He expected questions or objections; he received none.Bard shot him a quick, searching look, then nodded.“We’ll slip out the back,” he murmured.“Come, let’s dance over so no one realizes anything is amiss.”

The light, airy tune had not changed—only Maglor’s perception of the situation.It left him feeling oddly disconnected from reality as Bard steered him across the room and towards the large, sturdy door at one end.The Dwarves were all quite busy tucking away at their food, which must be a great relief.

Hand in hand they crept from the hall and out into the darkening gloaming.One or two stars were visible above the tops of the houses, and Maglor shivered slightly.Millennia of it had made him comfortable in darkness, but at strange times, perhaps once or twice an Age, he still found himself looking over his shoulder for the ugly darkness that had come to Formenos.

“This way,” Bard said, and gratitude swelled in Maglor’s breast for this Man who would drop everything just to help an Elf he had only known for a few brief heartbeats.They went down a few narrow streets, away from the shore, and up to a narrow house with three candles shining in the windows.“I hope you won’t mind, my home’s not really much for a graceful Elf like yourself.”

“I greatly appreciate your hospitality,” Maglor murmured.“And believe me, I have seen far worse.”

“You have not even seen inside it yet.”

“There is a roof,” Maglor replied serenely.“A roof, and lit candles, and—” he halted just for an instant as he saw movement and his heart tightened within him.“And a young child waiting for you eagerly,” he finished, as the little girl pressed her nose to the glass and her face lit up with excitement.

“Tilda!”Bard opened the door into an enthusiastic hug.“Careful,” he laughed.“Don’t knock me over.Where are Sigrid and Bain?”

“Sigrid went out to celebrate!” Tilda said, with a gap-toothed grin.“Bain is, um, changing in the back.”

A worried look passed across Bard’s face.“With the curtains drawn?” he asked quickly.He glanced sideways at Maglor, his eyes suddenly fierce and guarded.

“Yes, Father.”

“He should have gone with his sister,” Bard muttered.“Bain!Why did you let Sigrid go out by herself?”

There was a scrambling noise from the other room.After a minute, a red-faced boy with longish dark hair came tumbling out.“She just yelled she was going and went, Da!” he protested.“Besides, everyone wanted to celebrate the arrival of the King Under the Mountain—” He broke off, his eyes darting over to Maglor.“Who’s this?” he asked, crossing his arms defensively.

Maglor gave his most sweeping, elegant bow.“My name is Lindir, and I am King Thorin’s bard.Unlike your father, who I understand to be Laketown’s bowman, despite being a Bard.”

Tilda giggled.Bain scowled.Bard sighed.“I just hope she’s home in reasonable time,” he said, after a moment.“I’d best make us some supper, I suppose.I shouldn’t have tarried so long.”

“I am a fair hand in the kitchen these days; I can help if you would like,” Maglor offered.

“Ooh, will you stay for supper?” Tilda asked excitedly, slipping her small hand trustingly into Maglor’s.“Will you sing to us?”

Bain’s scowl intensified.

“If that is desired,” Maglor said, in an attempt to be diplomatic.His heart tightened at the little girl’s easy friendliness and wondered why her brother was quite so obdurate.But never mind, perhaps he had reason to be wary of strangers.Maglor could hardly hold that against anyone.

“Soup again,” Bard said, checking the cupboards.“And we’ve a little salted fish yet, but I’ll need to catch us some fresh tomorrow.”

“You do not need to feed me if it will cause undue hardship,” Maglor told him.“It is not as if I did not have anything to eat at the feast.” Not as much as he might have liked, as it had only taken the edge off his hunger, but still.

“Nonsense,” Bard said, before Bain could open his mouth.“We’re not so poorly off as all that.Tilda, will you lay the table?I’m sure your sister will be back soon.”

“Let me make the soup, Father,” Bain put in, with a rush and another ugly glance at Maglor.

Bard worried at his lower lip.“Well, if you want to.You’re a fine cook—” he seemed to be wrestling with himself for a moment and then finished, “—just like your mother was.”

The scowl vanished in an instant beneath a bright, eager smile.“Thank you, Da!”

The table was laid and the soup boiling on the stove giving off a delightful aroma when the door opened and a girl entered.She looked to be a few years younger than Bain, though Maglor was aware he was sometimes poor at judging Mannish ages.Her arms were full of bread and pastries.“I brought some things from the feast!” she said excitedly, then stopped, looking curiously at Maglor.“Who’s this, Da?”

“Sigrid!You shouldn’t have gone out by yourself,” Bard scolded, though he looked relieved.

“I was fine,” Sigrid flashed back.“You were out, after all.”

He took a breath.“Yes, that’s true, I’m sorry.”He passed a hand over his face and gave her a bemused smile.“It’s difficult to remember, sometimes, that you’re all growing up so fast.Thank you for bringing us back some food—I’d intended to, but I got sidetracked.”

Maglor, whose fault the sidetracking was, looked at his feet.

Sigrid paused for a moment, as if she hadn’t expected the apology, then stuck her nose in the air and put the food down on the table with a long-suffering sigh.“I am the family provisioner, it seems,” she said loftily.“So who _is_ this, Father?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry.This is Lindir.”Bard opened his mouth, looking slightly confused for some reason. 

“I am a traveling bard from Rivendell,” Maglor stepped in smoothly, bowing deeply.“Your father was kind enough to offer me a little hospitality when I found myself in an awkward situation.”

“A bard!” Sigrid’s eyes shone.“Rivendell!Can you tell us stories?I love stories!”

“Stop fawning,” Bain snapped.“And come sit down and eat your supper with the rest of us.”

Sigrid tossed her hair at him.“Don’t pay attention to Bain, she’s—” she cut herself off with a guilty look at Bard.“He’s just a grouchy nuisance.”

Maglor glanced from one to the other, intrigued.It was not really his business, but he hoped that the children weren’t afraid of showing their true selves to their father.He had begun to like Bard very much, and it would be disappointing.Very disappointing, in fact.But then—he himself had cause to know that parental relationships with children were complicated.With luck, that would be the cause of it, not anything intrinsic to the Man he was coming to know.

Supper was a merry affair.Sigrid begged Maglor for tales, and he obliged, judiciously lightening some of the details or ending before they continued too long.The rescue of the brave prince from the mountaintop by his husband caused something of a stir.

“Two boy Elves can be _married_?” Tilda gasped.“I never knew that!”

Maglor, wondering if he had made a mistake—he had once again forgotten the customs that sometimes lingered in Mannish settlements—searched for a diplomatic response, but before he could find one, Bain interjected, “What about two girl Elves?” and she sounded so wistful that Maglor found himself saying, “Even two Elves who are neither can be wed if they so choose.What a world it would be if such a thing impeded true love!”

Concerned, he glanced sideways at Bard, who was watching him silently, with a peculiar expression on his face.When he caught Maglor’s look, he gave him a small smile and a tiny nod, and Maglor relaxed. 

The rest of supper was largely uneventful; afterwards, Maglor supposed he must take his leave.He said as much; the children protested, but Bard did not.“Hush, hush,” he told them.“Master Lindir has other things he must attend to.May I see you out?” he asked.

“Of course, if you’d like,” Maglor agreed.

It was full dark by now; Varda’s stars shone down sweetly, illuminating the street with gentle silver light.

“You go to return to your companions?” Bard asked him, as they stood on the top of the rickety wooden stairs outside of the small house. 

Maglor nodded.“I’m sure they’re wondering where I am.”

There was a pause, and Maglor wondered what the mortal was thinking as he gazed at Maglor with a slightly furrowed brow.“I do not know if we will meet again,” Bard said slowly, after a moment.“I am no Elf, to be granted visions of the future.But—I would like to see you again.”

“Not all Elves can see through that veil either,” Maglor said softly.“And rarely have I seen such glimpses end in anything but tragedy.So let us lay aside dreams and visions and speak only of what is.”This evening had been a golden one; Bard had proved himself in a few short hours to be true and capable, a caring father and a kind friend.“I would like to see you again as well.”

A grin broke through the seriousness of his companion’s face.“Where two will it, a way may be found,” Bard returned.“Then I suppose I must ask the question I had meant to ask when we were dancing together.I hope I will not give offense, but I feel the asking now will cause less offense than a misstep later on.”

Maglor laughed.“I have been asked many things by many Men; I doubt I will be offended.Come, then, ask your question.”

Even in the dim light, he caught the telltale dusting of a flush across the Man’s cheeks.“Well, it’s just—are you an Elf lord or an Elf lady?” he mumbled.“When I first saw you, I thought you were a lord, but you asked me to dance, and a Man here wouldn’t ask me to dance.But then, what you said at dinner—” he waved his hand.

Hiding his face for a moment to disguise his mirth, Maglor mastered himself in a moment before he responded.“Ah, my friend, other Men have been confused before you.I am called a _nér_ in my own tongue, which is closer to your people’s notion of a Man than a Woman.But—” he added, a sudden impulse rising in him which surprised him with its frankness, “—you are in good company, for my own parents had some confusion about the matter upon my birth.I had to tell them when I reached adolescence that they were in error.”

Surprise flickered across Bard’s countenance, but he did not seem repulsed, to Maglor’s relief.“I—I didn’t realize that was possible,” he said.

Maglor smiled.“It rarely makes a difference for me.”His lips twisted.“A little more care in choice of...partners, I suppose.”

The Man looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, laughing a little.“I’m glad you told me.I will have to think about this.You may have handed me the key to an old puzzle that has been troubling me greatly.”

Not wanting to overstep, Maglor almost didn’t ask, but something pushed him to.“Bain?” he prompted.

“Ah, so you saw it even in those few hours,” Bard blurted.“Yes.Well.Thank you, friend.”He reached out and took Maglor’s slender hand in his thicker one.He was only a little shorter than Maglor—tall for a Man.

Maglor found he was trembling; he shook it off.“I must go,” he forced himself to say.“Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You are very welcome,” Bard replied.“Thank you for the gift of your songs and company.”

There was no excuse to linger after that.Maglor took his leave, wandering down the darkened streets and peering in the windows of the rickety little wooden buildings that were nearly stacked on top of one another.There were so many lives packed closely together here, and when he looked up, he could see the Lonely Mountain in the distance, a jagged darker outline against a dark sky.

It did not take foresight to know that if the dragon still lived, the Dwarves’ adventure could have serious repercussions.If the dragon lived, if the Dwarves misstepped, all of Laketown would burn.Maglor halted at the edge of a pier, looking at the stars reflected in the still water.He had said that he would go with the Dwarves to reclaim their homeland, to journey’s end.He had called himself Lindir, a wandering bard.A wandering bard would go with them and try to help that way.

But he was also Maglor Fëanorion, who had been the High King of the Noldor, who had held the Gap against Morgoth’s forces for centuries.He knew how to defend a town against a dragon, and he doubted there was anyone else living here who knew that.He spent a long time staring at his reflection in the water before leaving to track down the Company.

By the time he found the inn where they had been installed, the innkeeper told him they had paid for four rooms and all his companions had gone off to bed some time ago.Maglor made his way up a rickety staircase with a threadbare carpet and checked that there was flickering light seeping from under the door before he pushed it open.

The room was empty save for Bilbo, who sat on the window-sill with the window open, puffing on a pipe.He looked up as Maglor entered.“Oh, good,” he said.“We hoped you would find us.”

“I am sorry for taking my leave so swiftly.”Maglor shut the door behind him.“Was it troublesome to collect my pack and traveling harp?”

“Only a little.”Bilbo grinned and puffed on his pipe.“I shall take it out of your share of the treasure.A small service fee, if you like.”

He wasn’t going to get a better opening.“You may have all of it,” Maglor said swiftly; when Bilbo startled, he sat upon the bed quietly.“I am not going to the Mountain.”

“You’re not?”The little hobbit was clearly disconcerted.“But we need your help!”

“I have full confidence in you, Master Baggins,” Maglor told him seriously.“Certainly Gandalf was going to send the Dwarves on this mission with you alone before I so rudely inserted myself into the Company.And—” he frowned, trying to think how to say this.“Should there be an angry dragon,” he said finally, “and should that angry dragon try to take out its fury upon Laketown, I will be of greater use here.”

“Dear me,” squeaked Bilbo.“I should think if there is an angry dragon we will need your help!”

“Not quite, dear Master Baggins,” Maglor replied, settling himself onto the bed.“Yours is, first and foremost, a mission of stealth.If the dragon yet lives, I hope and presume that you will have the sense to avoid his attention or at least his teeth!But you and the Dwarves will have a mountain to hide in.The town here is unprotected—and I have fought dragons before.”

“Have you?” Bilbo’s eyes went a little round.“Now there is a tale I should like to hear sometime.”

“And so you shall,” Maglor told him firmly.“Particularly if you do me the kindness of not sending an angry dragon down upon my head.Personally, I recommend a knife in the dark.”

The hobbit quivered all over.“Dear me, Lindir, really, I am not so bloodthirsty, as I think you know!”

“Send one of the Dwarves to do it, then,” Maglor told him.“No, believe me, I am not falling back into my old, evil ways.I have never heard of a dragon that had anything in its heart but gold-lust and a delight in cruelty.They were not bred for it.”

“Who would breed a dragon?” Bilbo asked, and now his eyes were like saucers.

“That is not a question for a dark night like this.”Maglor kicked off his boots and lay back.“And with any luck, there will not be a living dragon there any longer.But if there is, and you wake him up—whatever you do, do not listen to his words.”A shudder went down his spine, as he thought of a crooning, golden voice from long ago.“Take care.And keep the rest of the Company safe.”

* * *

Bilbo had been thinking about Lindir’s words again, turning them over and over in his head as if he were pushing with his tongue at a loose tooth.He did not like them.He did not like that he had been left with the Dwarves, for he did not have as much faith in himself as they or Lindir seemed to have in him.And he missed Lindir fiercely.Without his cheer, the Company was frankly gloomy, and it was wearing on Bilbo. _And_ he had no clean pocket handkerchief.

“This business of the Arkenstone,” he said to Balin, who had been telling him about the hoard the night before, in an attempt to distract both of them from Thorin’s rather loud lamentations about the fact they had yet to find the Door, “it reminds me a little of some of those old stories about Lindir.”

“Which stories do you know?” Balin asked, for they had not discussed this overmuch.It had seemed a little rude, to talk ancient stories about someone who was in the next room, even discounting the Elven hearing which meant he probably would have known about it.

“It wasn’t in any of my storybooks as a child, you know,” Bilbo said, “And to be quite honest, I don’t know but that those weren’t just as accurate as some of the old histories I found later when I was doing research.Some of the archives in the Shire and thereabouts just seem to throw together any old bunch of nonsense that anyone has ever said!”

Balin stifled a smile.“Get to the point, lad,” he said, but quite affably.

“Yes, well.”Bilbo shrugged.“There was a story I read once about a shining gem that captured the light of the Sun and the Moon.It was stolen and swallowed by a great spider and all those Fëanorians went to kill her.”He looked thoughtful.“Lindir _was_ quite helpful against those spiders in Mirkwood…”

“There were three, as our histories tell it,” Balin said with a frown.“Three gems created by the greatest Elven gemwright of all time—well, of course an Elf wouldn’t just make one masterpiece—” He sounded slightly miffed, which Bilbo took to mean that they outdid whatever Balin considered the greatest gem of Dwarven craft, if only in number.“Morgoth stole them away,” Balin continued.“And Fëanor and his sons went to retrieve them, but they never could, for a great curse lay on them and any who touched them.One of the gems was taken back from him by Beren and Lúthien, at great cost.”

“Oh!” Bilbo leaned forward avidly.“I have heard the tale, but I did not realize it was connected.So it was the same jewel?”

“One of the three.It is that gem that sent Lindir and his brothers to kill the Elves of Mirkwood, set in a beautiful Dwarf-forged necklace that those Elves stole.” He pursed his lips.“Oh, I do not suppose they deserved to get slaughtered for it,” he grumbled.“Or not all of them, at any rate.”

“So it has nothing to do with the Arkenstone?” Bilbo pressed, drawing them back to the main topic of conversation with some interest.

“Nothing whatsoever,” Balin said determinedly.“Except that they are both great, brilliant jewels.The Arkenstone is better crafted, I dare say—” he puffed irritably on his pipe, “—but there is admittedly only one.”

Bilbo hide a smile at the old Dwarf’s indignation.“I dare say,” he agreed.

“Oh,” Balin said thoughtfully, then chuckled, “And I suppose the Arkenstone was found in a mountain and one of those old Elf-wrought jewels was lost down a fiery chasm, so the story goes.If the Arkenstone were _not_ Dwarf-wrought, as it decidedly is, I suppose one might make an argument.”

“I see,” Bilbo said thoughtfully.It did not help him with their predicament, but at least it made for an interesting tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for readers familiar with the Hobbit and not the Silm: Formenos is the name of a fortress where the original Dark Lord (Morgoth) showed up and killed Maglor's grandfather Finwë when he was still comparatively very young.
> 
> The Gap refers to Maglor's Gap, which was a wide plain in Beleriand Maglor defended a long time ago. It was lost to his forces when Glaurung the dragon attacked them. Glaurung, incidentally, was well known not only for fire, teeth and claws, but also some really unpleasant mind magic.
> 
> Note for other readers: 
> 
> Nen is my own OC and some of their interactions with Maglor may be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26414983
> 
> (Canonically, Maglor *was* married, but the gender of his spouse was never specified.)


End file.
